


The Worst Sort of Affliction

by LadyWarden



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Romance, Sex, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Smut, Teasing, slight AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-03-14 08:36:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3404075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyWarden/pseuds/LadyWarden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Falling in love is the worst sort of affliction.</p><p>Update: I've taken a lot of time off from this fic (shakes fist at pesky real life obligations) but I'm adding a new prologue chapter and going through the already posted chapters to make some revisions. There will probably be some new chapters added in to aid with pacing. Thanks for your patience and thanks for reading!</p><p>(Chapters 1-3 have been revised. Working on the others, but leaving them up as is anyway!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Just another retelling of a spunky rogue Trevelyan and our favorite strapping Templar. Because there is never enough!

That woman was going to be trouble. 

A stomach-twisting, palm-sweating sort of trouble. The disconcerting feeling one gets before an ambush. Cullen had known it from the moment he laid eyes on her. She had been unconscious and shackled to the floor at the time, but it wasn’t the trappings of imprisonment that had truly colored his opinion. Just a feeling. 

On the contrary, she’d looked so small and harmless in the dungeon that he’d found it hard to match Cassandra’s fervent conviction. Trouble was not the same as guilt, after all.

He supposed that she _could_ have been the culprit behind the attack on the Conclave, however, he couldn’t see any way to undoubtedly prove it. But, Maker knew that someone needed to take the blame for what had happened, it might as well be the redhead that felt troublesome even in her sleep. One less complication in the already tangled knot that Haven had become.

There had been so many other matters that had required his attention at the time, he had let Leliana and Cassandra handle the prisoner however they felt was necessary. He did not expect to see her again. 

He most definitely did not expect to see her awake and unfettered and waving the key to Thedas’s salvation around on her left hand. Until that moment, he had been sure that nothing was going to stop the Breach from swallowing the world. She had gone from prisoner to savior before his eyes.

When they finally came face to face across the map table, Cullen couldn't help but wonder if perhaps this woman - Lady Norah Trevelyan - was somehow compensating for the three days she’d just spent unconscious. Her icy blue eyes were open wide, darting between himself and his colleagues, and the fingers of her left hand tapped a staccato rhythm against her glowing palm.

The only time she stilled completely was when Josephine told her that she was now being hailed as the Herald of Andraste. 

Lady Norah’s mouth twisted in a disdainful frown as she scoffed at the idea of being touched by the hand of the Maker. Cullen thought she might go so far as to ridicule the very idea of the Maker himself, but instead she made a strangled sound in her throat and motioned for them to carry on. 

He could not help being struck by the ease with which she subtly took the lead. And with nothing more than a gesture! As the council went on, he was not even sure that she was aware she had done it. What a strange woman the Herald of Andraste was turning out to be. 

Upon closer inspection, he realized that her nose had been broken. Not recently. There was also a faded, old scar slicing through her right eyebrow, tapering off across her cheekbone. Although neither feature fit with a lady of her standing, everything else about her seemed to.

Her deep red hair looked soft and freshly washed, her lightly freckled cheeks were pink with rouge, her pale blue eyes were framed by thick, dark lashes and her full lips were painted the color of rose petals. All together, Cullen realized, she was lovely.

But, her loveliness was not important. It was clear that she was part of the Inquisition now, a central part, for good or ill. He was unsure of the true mettle this seemingly soft Marcher noble possessed. To him it looked as if a storm was brewing just under her skin - like she was ready to bolt in every direction at once. But, she did not balk from the task before them. 

Even before she left for the Hinterlands, the reports of filled requisitions began to start cropping up. Once she was gone from Haven, the deluge truly started. Refugees in droves found their way to the safety of the fledgling Inquisition. The Herald had an eye for helpful hands, as well; a group of armsmen led by a minor Ferelden lordling, a senior enchanter well versed in healing, and a lyrium smuggler were just some of the assets she sent back to them. The torrent of people streaming into the camp was endless.

Of course the extra hands were welcome, but they also needed rations to eat and places to sleep. Both of which were in short supply in Haven. The little town was simply not built for the influx of so many faithful and frightened. 

On top of all the other matters they’d been attending to, he and Josephine were now tasked with coordinating the seemingly hapless rabble into the infrastructure and army of the Inquisition. Cullen found the hole in the sky a sight less daunting. 

However, if longer hours were the entirety of the trouble the Herald was going to cause him, he’d have gladly accepted his burden and carried on. Over time, he would find out just how deep this trouble out turned out to be.

*

The ringing of blunted metal practice swords on heavy steel shields engulfed the yard. Norah breathed in deeply, savoring the arhythmic clangor the fresh recruits were causing. Some people would be irritated by the noise, but to her it was comforting. The training yard back at her family’s estate had been one of her earliest safe havens and her father’s master-at-arms one of the few in Ostwick to encourage her in her pugilistic endeavors. Or any endeavor, really. 

She pushed away the unpleasant thoughts of home with an emphatic little shake of her head. Thankfully, Ostwick was many long leagues from Haven. With the way events had been going since the Conclave, Norah wasn’t sure if she’d ever have the opportunity to return... even if she wanted to.

First, she’d awoken a prisoner, with that _thing_ marking her left hand. Then, she knocked herself out using whatever it was to stop the hole in the sky from getting any bigger. The next time she woke up, she was a hero. She was most definitely not used to so many important people actually listening to her opinions. It was incredibly disconcerting. 

Especially when her opinions were not quite the most popular. If she wasn’t so closely associated with Andraste’s holy ass these days, she was sure people like Seeker Cassandra and Commander Cullen would have a lot more to say about her encouraging support for the mages. For the most part, they bit their tongues. Norah figured she would accept what small victories she could with them, especially when one was an uptight Templar. 

Just thinking of the man made her groan. He was almost perfect. She had always had a weak spot for rugged, handsome men. And they for her whenever she could help it. But, he had sworn his life to a bunch of cruel, puffed up bigots. It was a such shame. If things had been different, she was sure she’d have been able to easily unwind the tense Commander. Perhaps even rewind him around her little finger if she found him enjoyable enough. 

She eyed the man from across the yard as he quietly watched his recruits. Even with all that armor he wore, she could imagine all the ways in which she’d find him pleasurable. But, Norah had made a promise long ago regarding fraternization with Templar men, she had no intention of breaking it. 

Although, she mused, by that same promise she was bound to tease him. During her visits with her twin brother at the Ostwick Circle, Lyam had found it endlessly amusing to watch her use her newfound feminine charm to befuddle his jailers and then leave them wanting.

It was petty, she knew, especially now that she was older, but so was the Templars’ treatment of her brother and his fellows. Either way, she had promised and Lyam had died.

She grasped for his ring that she wore around her neck, but her fingers found nothing. She belatedly remembered that the necklace had been lost since she had woken up in Haven’s dungeon. All of her other possessions had been returned to her down to the very last lock-pick, Norah assumed it had somehow been lost in the Fade. Anger at herself and the black holes in her memory began to bubble up.

Just then, Cullen cut through the clangor. “There’s a shield in your hand, block with it!” he shouted, his stern voice dripping with disdain, as he rounded on the nearest recruit. “If this man was your enemy, you’d be dead.”

In response, the young man threw his weight behind his shield as he brought it up to deflect his sparring partner’s blow. The other recruit staggered back unsteadily and the others suddenly realized their shields weren’t just fancy weights hung on their arms to slow them down. Cullen gave a satisfied nod as the noise picked up again as recruits bashed each other about the yard. 

Before she quite realized what she was doing, she was stalking around the training yard. Circling her prey, in a sense. Norah almost laughed aloud. How could anyone call her holy?

She managed to sidle up close enough that she could smell his musky aroma of oiled leather and metal. While she was used to the thrill of the chase, she found his scent was a little more heady than she expected. She breathed deep.

He chose her moment of weakness to turn away from his charges. The unflappable Commander actually gave a little start as he found her standing so close to him. 

“I take it giving them the rough side of your tongue never fails, Commander?” she asked as she nodded towards his recruits.

“I find it best to be strict with their training,” he replied neutrally.

“Seems to me that you find it best to be strict with most things,” she retorted, biting her lower lip.

He cleared his throat and asked, “Was there something I could do for you, He-… my lady?”

Her eyebrow arched ever so slightly. “Very professional, Commander. Tactful of you, as well. Leaving out the ‘Herald’ bit to my face,” she laughed lightly, “You’ve picked up on how much I hate it?”

“I don’t think you’ve been very inconspicuous about the matter,” he shrugged. 

*

As far as he was concerned, she hadn’t been hiding her feelings at all. Every single time someone referred to her as the Herald she openly rolled her eyes. Leliana had allowed the title to spread and the Inquisition depended on people who believed in the stories. As far as he was concerned, if wouldn’t hurt if she showed a little _less_ disdain for it. The Inquisition needed her now and they couldn’t afford for their figurehead to appear irreverent. 

She crossed her arms and regarded him carefully, “I’ve bitten my tongue more than you know.”

One of the message runners trotted up between them, forestalling any retort, and handed him a report. The elf was off before Cullen had broken the seal. He read the missive and sighed; since the Templar’s appearance in Val Royeaux less and less had joined their ranks. A few had deserted, the report contained a list of the names.

The topic put a bad taste in his mouth. “I believe you still haven’t mentioned what brought you out here?”

“Oh. Just idle curiosity, ser,” she replied simply, as if it were perfectly normal for her to make smalltalk with him in the middle of the training grounds while messengers came and went, punctuating their chat.

“Curiosity?” he repeated, confused.

“Yes,” she bobbed up on her tip toes a bit, bringing her eyes level with his. “I just wanted to get to know you a little better… If that’s alright, of course.”

She sunk back down and he followed her gaze. Like a fly caught in a spider’s web, he was stuck there. Cullen gaped at her for a moment before he came to his senses. “Yes, of course. Um… What would you like to know?”

“Where are you from?” she asked promptly, then quickly added, “Well, Ferelden, obviously. But, you know, more specifically?”

She spoke so fast her words seemed to trip over one another. The corners of his mouth involuntarily quirked upward for a brief moment - the closest he had come to a smile for quite some time. “A small village in the south called Honnleath. But, I left there when I was young to join the Templars.”

At his mention of the Order, the Herald grimaced. That was odd behavior. As far he as knew, Lady Norah was no mage.

“I’ve since left the Order,” he said quietly. She made clear her open support for mages’ rights, but he hadn’t thought that might extend to distaste for their guards. After a slight pause he added, “I… hope my past association isn’t an issue for you?”

“No! Maker! No, of course not,” she replied a little too swiftly. Her fingers idly groped about her throat as if looking to grasp a pendant that wasn’t there. When she noticed her errant digits the Herald balled her hand into a tight fist. “I suppose I didn’t realize that one could just _stop_ being a Templar.” 

Cullen sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He could feel a terrible headache coming on. “I believe I would be the first knight to do so. Voluntarily, at least.”

“Might I… might I ask why, Commander?” Her voice was soft. The question was delicate, but her tone implied a quiet sort of sincerity in her interest. 

“Cassandra recruited me in Kirkwall. I felt I had done as much as I could for the Order there, so I accepted her offer. After all that had happened, I didn’t really see the point in staying-” He stopped abruptly and took a moment to compose himself. His voice held far less frustration when he continued. “I saw a greater chance to help protect people and I took it. The Inquisition can do a lot of good.”

She nodded agreement. “Of course we can. Thank you, Commander, for sharing all that with me.” Then, her grin turned impish and she bit her bottom lip almost eagerly. “If I may venture one more question…. ser?”

Something about the way she called him ‘ser’ just then made his stomach drop to his toes. All the aches throbbing behind his temples faded away as his blood rushed out of his head and down into his breeches. She was looking up at him through her thick lashes. His breath caught in his throat, so he merely nodded for her to continue.

“I have always wondered… what sort of vows are Templars required to take?” she asked innocuously.

He exhaled a long, relieved breath. “We meditate on the Chant and have a vigil and then there’s the first draught of lyrium… is that what you meant?”

“Not precisely,” her mischievous smirk returned, “I was wondering if it was something more along the lines of ‘I vow to watch all the mages and abstain from pleasures of the flesh’.”

“Well.. it’s not quite like that,” he replied, that ghost of a smile making another short lived appearance. ”And there’s nothing about.. um.. physical temptation. Though, I suppose some have taken such vows to prove their commitment.”

Lady Norah nodded thoughtfully. “And… have _you_?” 

“I? No. Of course not. Why would-“ Cullen choked on the question before he could finish asking it.

She laughed at him, distinctly _at_ him, as she walked away. He couldn't help but watch her go, wondering uncomfortably at what had just transpired between them.

Trouble. She was going to cause him the worst sort of trouble. 


	2. Flight from Haven

The door to Haven's chantry slammed shut. All other sounds seemed to fade, but he heard the creaking wood and rusted hinges like a clarion call across still waters. 

Commander Cullen stood fixed on the doors for a moment; then everything came crashing down upon him. An ancient darkspawn magister was leading an army to crush their fledgling movement with the Templar cast-off Samson by his side.

He’d known Samson as a desperate and ruthless man long before this. It almost made a sick sort of sense to Cullen that he’d found his way to that monster’s cause. And yet all he could think about was how he’d thrown Lady Norah into their path.

He had just sent the Herald of Andraste to her death. The Herald, and Seeker Cassandra, Varric and the Tevinter, Dorian, as well. They went to their doom to save them all.

He felt a soft tug on his sleeve and turned to see the strange boy, Cole, looking up at him from under the brim of that ridiculous hat. 

"They're helping. She's going to help," he said, strangely. 

Cullen simply stared, but it didn't seem to matter as he was already on the other side of the room, helping Chancellor Roderick to his feet. Wasn't the boy just at his arm a moment ago? 

He shook it off and began herding refugees out of the Chantry, giving orders to his lieutenants as he found them. He had sent Lady Norah to her death. It was the same thought in a different guise. He issued orders to keep it from coming back.

Then, snow was buffeting his face. The cold finding all the cracks in his armor. The last of the refugees were clearing the tree-line - their journey up the Pilgrim’s Path and out of Haven had felt immeasurable and immediate at the same time. 

He held up his fist in a signal to Sera, who fluidly knocked an arrow, too focused to flinch as Vivienne ignited the arrowhead with flames spouting from her fingertips. The elf pulled the fletching to her cheek and looked to him. Cullen stared deep into the bright fires illuminating the valley as he brought his hand down. 

Sera loosed. 

He didn't need to watch Vivienne feed the flames, he could still feel that much magic. The First Enchanter must have turned the arrow into an angry red comet shooting high into the sky, then bursting with a violent brilliance - how else was the Herald to see it through the choking smoke down there? 

But, see it she must have, for moments later he saw the mountain come down and extinguish Haven's burning carcass.

In an instant, the vibrant red flames were replaced by a crushing blackness. Cullen was blinded for a moment as his eyes adjusted to the dim torchlight. He was struck by a brief vision of her shining red hair suddenly lost in the void - in that moment he felt nothing but gut wrenching despair.

And, oddly, a deep sense of loss for all the trouble she’d yet to cause him.

Then, he was pelted with a small wad of snow against the side of his head. It brought him back to the moment in time to hear Sera's shout: "Back the way we came! Use your eyes, yeah?”

Cullen squinted against the snow, racing forward the instant he recognized the dark figures moving towards them. Only three, but any at all gave hope. 

Dorian was pulling a dazed and stumbling Cassandra, who, in turn, was leaning heavily on the mage. Varric was a step behind, cradling Bianca protectively in his arms. All three were covered in ash and spattered with blood. Cassandra seemed to be the worst injured, so he reached out to help Dorian support the Seeker. 

Vivienne was by his side as she cast what rejuvenating magic she could on Cassandra. She alleviated their burden a little and allowed them to readjust. Cullen caught Dorian's eye, but the Tevinter only looked away and trudged forward in the snow. Cullen had no choice but to carry on with him as the rest of the party followed.

He looked back to Varric. The dwarf shook his head woefully, but before he could speak, Vivienne was upon them. 

"Was that truly an Archdemon? And, more importantly, my dear, is it _gone_?" 

Cullen mentally scolded himself, he was still the leader of whatever was left of the Inquisition's forces after their frenzied flight. 

That first question could wait. It was just like a mage to ask something academic before something practical, even in a time of crisis. But, Madame Vivienne was no fool and her second question... He should have asked that, instead of wasting time looking for the Herald like a lost puppy.

“Oh, it's gone, Iron Lady. Believe me. But, unfortunately, the Maker only knows what that thing is." Varric replied, “I certainly can’t tell you.”

"And..." Sera began tremulously, "...Norah?" 

Hearing the Herald's name made his stomach drop to his toes, like the ground had just vanished from underneath him. Varric’s look had already told him no: she stayed behind. She gave everything so they could have this chance.

He found it incredibly sad that someone so vibrant and full of life had been snuffed out so unceremoniously. She deserved better, he knew that. Cullen couldn’t help but feel as if he had personally failed her.

Dorian cursed. "Cassandra took a blow and got tossed back toward us. We had already gotten the trebuchet aimed. Norah ordered us to go... Then the dragon? Archdemon? Whatever it was, it landed between us and that was..." he trailed off.

"That was what?" Vivienne bit off briskly.

Dorian gave her a murderous glare. “That was the last we saw of her… quite some time ago." 

Cullen closed his eyes and whispered a prayer. His fears had come true; he had sent the Herald of Andraste to her death.

*

Their camp was cold despite the blazing fires. It was quiet, too. They were alive, but no one wanted to rejoice. They were all uneasy. Afraid that if they made too much noise, Corephyus and his Red Templars would bear down upon them again. 

Even the bright campfires, so small compared to the vast darkness funneled into the crooked mountain pass they were camped in, seemed a brilliant beacon to any eye searching for them.

Cullen stared deeply into one such fire, until the flickering oranges and yellows turned to dark red embers. He was again lost in a vision of her hair when someone abruptly stoked the flames, bringing the dying fire back to life. The sudden need to do _something_ took hold of him. 

He lit a torch and started off in making wide arcs back across the route they had just come from. He did not know how long he had been meticulously pacing before others joined him. 

In fact, he only realized others had joined him when he noticed Cassandra by his side. She had recovered her senses, but was limping under the watchful eye of Sister Leliana a few paces behind.

The Seeker and the Sister both nodded briefly to him, a slight dip of their heads, but they said nothing. No one stated their purpose. To have said it aloud would have shattered all their resolve; to say they were out looking for the Herald was far too absurd. 

Cullen wondered how collectively desperate they must be, that they were out searching for a woman who was surely dead. If not quite dead, then dying.

His stomach lurched at the thought of her alone and helpless in the cold as her life slipped away. He was reminded of how small she’d looked when she was passed out in Haven’s dungeon. That tiny woman, herald of nothing but trouble if you’d asked her opinion, had somehow touched him deeply in the short time he’d known her.

She had done nothing but tease and infuriate him… yet, he knew he would sacrifice all he held dear to bring her back.

He faltered and the torch wavered. Leliana wordlessly relived him of it and held the light aloft, stretching her shadow out behind her, but also throwing back the darkness ahead. Cullen shook his head as he realized that he was the desperate fool who has begun this futile search in the first place. 

At the time, he hadn’t really been thinking beyond himself. He couldn’t have imagined that anyone would notice, let alone take up torches and begin the pacing themselves! He had just done it for want of anything better to do… He knew that was not entirely true. 

Something tickled the back of his mind that made him want, no, _need_ to search. He looked up then, just as the torchlight accentuated a bend in the pass. Cullen had a vision of her dark red hair. And he stopped short. Quickly, he swung Leliana’s arm back around where he had seen - there!

“There! It’s her!” he shouted and he was running forward as fast as the drifts would allow, catching her before she collapsed completely in the snow. 

He barely even heard Cassandra exclaim ‘Thank the Maker!’ as he easily scooped her up into his arms. 

Cullen turned to face them all. He could not contain the overwhelming sensation of joy and hope that washed over him as he looked down at her. Despite the cold, he felt a flush creep up the back of his neck.

He held her gently, reverently, for all of them to see. The party around him flew into action, Leliana sent a runner back to the camp ahead of them to make what preparations they could. Cassandra began to rub the Herald’s hands, trying to bring back some semblance of warmth, while hobbling alongside Cullen. 

All he found himself capable of was placing one sure foot in front of the other and smiling down at the unconscious woman in his arms.

*

When she woke, she was unsure where she was and how she had gotten there. 

Norah was not wholly unused to waking up in such states; however, the frequency with which it had been happening of late was startling. This was at least the third time in a fortnight and with nary a taste of neither liquor nor men between the incidents, she didn’t even truly feel like she deserved the situation. Quite frankly, it was getting tiresome.

She closed her unfocused eyes and exhaled slowly, allowing her senses time to return to her. Before sight or sound or taste came the ache, dull and everywhere. At least, if they all hurt, she still had all her limbs. 

The full body ache was followed by hazy memories, followed by the heat. Norah found the tent was oppressively hot and her hair was plastered to her forehead by sweat. She tried to wipe it away, but found herself snugly cocooned in several layers of blankets.

“Better than the dungeon,” she breathed to herself, in a vain attempt to stave off the growing panic in her belly. 

Being unable to move made her feel as if she had been buried alive. Norah frantically gasped for breath as she struggled to free herself from the tightly wrapped blankets.

Instead of the tent, she saw a wall of snow come crashing down on top of her. She tumbled off the makeshift camp cot onto the rough canvas floor, limbs bursting out of the confines of her blanket prison. 

She laid there for a long while, reigning in her wild, ragged breath, not caring in the slightest that she was completely naked and sweating. She might have been weeping as well, but there was no way of telling - the sweat on her face was just as salty and warm as tears. The destruction of Haven fell back into place in her mind. With it, Corephyus.

Norah vomited noisily into a thoughtfully placed bucket, surprised she had anything in her to bring back up at all. As she wiped her mouth, the tent flap opened, allowing a sliver of frigid air to run a finger up her back. 

She turned to face it and found Mother Giselle. The old cleric did not waste a moment and she lifted the trembling woman back onto the cot with surprising strength. "Rest, Lady Trevelyan. We did not expect you up so soon." 

Norah shook her head, she could not go back to the confines of that cot, not when so much was racing through her head. She fumbled for clothes. The Revered Mother made soothing noises as she helped Norah dress. It occurred to her that perhaps, at this time, it required nothing more than a steady hand to guide her rather than strength or force of will.

”I remember what happened at Haven." Norah breathed. 

She clutched Mother Giselle's arm, and the old cleric covered Norah's shaking hand with her own calm one. Norah’s awareness of the rest of the world outside the tent snapped back into focus - to the vehement argument the Inquisition’s leaders had been having, that she had been hearing all along. It had even penetrated her sleep, she was quite sure. The canvas walls were very thin, after all.

Norah sighed, "They've been at it for hours, haven't they?”

"They have that luxury now. Thanks to you, the enemy could not follow. With time to doubt comes blame. Infighting may threaten us as much as this Corephyus." Mother Giselle fixed her with an implacable gaze. 

There was more on the tip on her tongue, Norah could clearly tell. However, the last thing she could possibly bear to hear was more religious drivel about how she was Andraste's _bloody_ chosen. Her stomach heaved, but she had nothing left. Instead, she focused on the ache in her head.

"The only thing yelling gets us is a headache. _Another_ headache," she said wryly.

Mother Giselle smiled sadly, then said, “They know. Our situation is a complicated one - we saw our defender rise and-" 

Norah mustered all her strength. For what, she did not know, but anything was better than hearing this divine nonsense yet again. Especially not after all that had just befallen her. 

She raised up a hand and was surprised to see it no longer trembling.

The words tumbled out of her, "Forgive me, Mother Giselle, I know this is going to sound awful even before I say it, and perhaps with recent events I may be given a reprieve, but that will be for you to decide,” She stopped for a quick breath, “You must be a bloody great fool to think I've been touched by the hand of Andraste. Why, only moments ago, you gathered a naked, trembling, wretch off this very floor! No one has ever heard stories of Andraste needing any such things done for her." 

Norah paused, frustrated, and made a strangled sound in her throat, "It doesn't matter. Arguments about the next world are what started all this… it’s time we started to give a damn about this one.” 

With that, she stormed out of the tent.

*

They had been arguing for hours. Cullen thought he’d be happy to have silence, but instead of peaceful, it was oppressive. 

He kept his face turned away from the fire so he did not have to look at Josephine and Leliana. He was not angry with them, their arguments were never borne of anger. This time he had no answers and he dug his heels in out of fear.

It was unworthy behavior, he knew. But, he had felt lost since their flight from Haven and he felt their disappointment as surely as his own had greeted him staunchly. If only he knew which way to turn.

A rustling from the Herald’s tent caught his attention. Despite his mind being elsewhere, he had noted Mother Giselle enter earlier. He could never truly lose himself, his templar discipline kept him constantly vigilant whether he was fully aware of it or not. 

When the tent flap flew open to reveal the not the Revered Mother, but the Herald, he felt his heart leap to his throat. She should not be up yet. Wasn’t the troublesome woman aware she needed to rest after all that she’d been through? She would be useless to them all if she refused to take care of herself. 

With his blood pounding in his ears, he stared at her. Cullen felt as if he had never truly looked at the woman before. It was as if he could see past the flippant front she typically kept up. She was obviously weary down to her very bones, but somehow she carried an undeniable spark of life, perhaps better characterized as defiance.

Her dark red hair had been brushed back and pulled into a loose tail, soft curls fell around her face. Her mouth was set in a small frown, just slightly turned down at the corners. Her delicate brows were drawn together with worry. Piercingly clear, ice blue eyes scanned the crowd, shocked as the tide of followers turned to acknowledge her presence among them. 

She shifted her weight to her back leg, he recognized it as a subtly defensive stance.

Then, Mother Giselle was among them singing her hymn. Leliana's sweet voice joined the cleric's, followed by Josephine and others. Cullen could not bring himself to sing, but the song was everywhere now, overwhelming him and drawing him forward, closer up to the fire. 

He watched as the Herald unconsciously brought her left hand up to her throat and seemed to grope through her scarf for something that was not there. All Cullen could see was the mark, emanating it's eerie green light. 

His eyes met the Herald's over the flames and she held his gaze, those icy wells glittering with firelight even in their black depths. Cullen wondered idly if they might not melt. As she looked away, he closed his eyes and began to sing.


	3. Skyhold

The fortress was called Skyhold. They had been there only a few days and yet it already seemed more like home than her family's estate in Ostwick ever had. Even with all the rubble. Norah nudged a stray rock off the stairs with the toe of her boot, sighing softly. There was quite a bit of rubble. 

They had named her Inquisitor. Which was absolutely daft. 

Norah had tried to explain, but there wasn't enough time. Cassandra had already brought her up in front of everyone left in the Inquisition. And Leliana was standing there with that flaming huge sword. Her only protest came out as, ‘You all _agreed_ to this?!’

Cassandra, Leliana, Cullen, and Josephine never agreed on anything. She could not believe this was what they chose to start with. Didn't they know? Norah had been the youngest and most disappointing Trevelyan child for years. Ever since Lyam had died. 

She had given up on her family and their horrifyingly ignorant values. Instead, Norah had thrown herself into hedonism. Drinking and gambling and fighting and fucking like all the other lesser scions of the proud families of the Free Marches.

Her parents had been trying to send her to the Chantry for years, and the only reason she had agreed to attend the Conclave was because even a trip to frigid Ferelden was better than rotting in the Marches. 

At least, that was what she’d said aloud, but Norah had instantly seen the opportunity. 

There was no way they were going to turn her into a Templar or a Sister, she had just needed a chance to get out of their reach. Her parents rarely allowed her the to travel outside the Free Marches and she had not the means on her own, but she had seen Ferelden twice before.

Her cousin was the Queen and the Warden who stopped the Fifth Blight - as child she’d spent some time in Highever with the young Couslands. When Norah (and Norah alone of all the Trevelyan clan) had been invited to the wedding and coronation, she was the only one not shocked to bits. 

Despite their veiled disdain for the country, Bann Trevelyan and his wife had always known the Couslands’ wielded great power and influence in Ferelden, even before Arella had become Queen. The bootlicking had been going on for long enough that they had even named her in a trite attempt to curry favor with the Couslands: Elenorah, after Teryn Bryce's beloved wife, Eleanor.

She had planned to slip away from the Conclave, get to Denerim and present herself to her cousin. Norah had no further designs beyond securing a position at court and taking up residence in The Pearl. Perhaps she’d look into getting herself a mabari… Would the dogs imprint on a foreigner?

Norah shook her head, how could she be expected to lead the Inquisition? She was a rogue and a liar, a spoiled noble brat, and she could barely claim any sort of faith in the Maker. 

Fools, the Inquisition was comprised of fools. … And she was their fool leader. If it wasn’t happening to her, it would be hilarious. 

Norah sighed again and kicked yet another bit of rubble down the stairs. It must have bounced off a strange angle, for it sailed out as if flung by a catapult into the bustling yard below.

She saw Commander Cullen at the bottom of the stairs, surrounded by what seemed to be a small army of scouts, officers, and messengers, all hunched over a makeshift wooden table covered in reports. She held her breath. For a wild moment she actually hoped that it might hit one of them, especially the stern Commander. 

It would hit him right between the eyes, he would look up at her, and finally she would hear the sweet voice of reason. He would say, ‘Someone, please, remove this silly girl from Skyhold. We were remiss to think someone with so many freckles could ever be Inquisitor.’

A giggle slipped past Norah's lips as the offending bit of detritus flew clear of all possible targets. She felt Cullen's eyes on her immediately, although he had not ceased issuing commands. Interestingly, Norah had not thought him aware of her presence. She quickly decided her best course of action was to pretend that there had been no mindless tittering on her part.

Especially not when it would be so easy for someone to mistakenly think she'd been staring at him. No, she had to make it seem as if she had been coming to speak with him all along, not idly wandering the grounds and giggling at the sight of handsome generals. 

He sent away the last messenger, but she knew it wouldn’t be very long before another took up the young man’s place. The man never stopped working.

“We set up at Haven the best we could, but we would never be prepared for an Archdemon… or whatever that was,” he said by way of greeting as soon as she had drawn near, “With more warning, perhaps…” 

Cullen raised a hand to rub the back of his neck. Norah could tell it was an old habit, triggered by discomfort or stress. She found it oddly endearing.

“Do you ever sleep?” she asked glibly. 

He hesitated, clearly put off by the question, then launched into a discourse on tactics, repairs, and guard rotations. Norah barely heard him. She had few personal rules for herself, but ‘never trust a Templar’ was one of them. However, his warm amber eyes were making it difficult to keep her guard up.

In all her experience with men, she had never met one quite so disarming. Norah was also quite sure he had no idea the effect he was having on her. It made perfect sense, of course. Templars were specifically encouraged to not fraternize with their charges.

Norah could only imagine the number of mages, both male and female, who thought they’d solicit lenience from him by offering up their bodies. She could not picture this strict and disciplined man indulging them. She found herself wondering if those qualities translated in titillating ways in bed.

She was busy taking in the small scar that cut through his upper lip, when she realized he was no longer speaking. What was the last thing he’d said? Something about her becoming Inquisitor? 

Norah went with it. “Inquisitor Trevelyan,” she sighed, “I wasn’t looking for another title. It sounds odd, don’t you think?”

“Not at all,” he replied right away, a ghost of a grin on his lips.

“Is that the official response?” Norah countered. 

He laughed unabashedly for the first time in her presence. It was rich and velvety and she wondered why he didn’t make a point to do it more often. He was speaking again, complimenting her leadership, but she was still stuck on his laugh. A man had no right to laugh like that if he was going to keep it to himself. Ah, it was her turn to say something again.

“Thank you, Cullen,” she said, using his given name without thinking, letting it hang there in the air between them. 

He smiled a lopsided smile and she found her mouth moving without any permission from her head. 

“Our escape from Haven was a close thing… I’m glad that you- that so many made it out.” she stumbled through the rest of the sentence. 

It was unlike her to slip in such a way. Something about that scar was distracting, she had to leave before she the giggles could start again. It would be incredibly inappropriate, Haven was a tragedy still fresh in everyone’s mind. The Inquisitor couldn’t be seen giggling after bringing up the crushing loss.

“As am I,” the Commander replied. 

Her fevered introspection made her miss Cullen’s regretful look as she made to leave. He gently caught her by the arm before she could turn away. His grip was strong and steady, and he let it linger. 

Until that moment, she hadn’t realized the rest of her was so _cold_. But then, it was possible that everything seemed cold in comparison to the heat radiating from the gloved hand on her elbow. 

“You stayed behind,” he said softly. 

Norah heard the restraint in his voice and let out the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. 

Cullen continued with a growing intensity, “You could have… I will not allow the events at Haven to happen again. You have my word.”

All she could manage in that moment was a vague noise of gratitude, and a weak attempt to walk away from him with as much composure as she could muster. 

Norah was determined not to break out into a run, no matter how desperately her feet itched to pick up their pace. How could one touch, through layers of leather and wool, set her skin on fire? 

It was all wrong. _She_ was supposed to be the one tormenting _him_. She would get nowhere if he turned her into a stammering, weak-kneed mess every time they touched. He didn't even know what he was doing, how could she allow him the upper hand? Even as she left him, the heat in her belly did not abate. Composure eluded her and she was fairly certain there was only one way to get it back. 

Norah would need to bury herself deep in the snow. Forever.

*

Cullen quietly watched the Inquisitor’s retreating back. He thought it was odd that she had immediately returned to the castle proper, retracing the path she originally took to get to him. 

When he noticed her on the stairs, he thought she might be heading to the stables. Master Dennett had not yet arrived and he had heard the Inquisitor vehemently express her concern for the mounts many, many times during the short, busy days since they’d arrived in Skyhold. It had been, in fact, a truly incredible amount given that the time they’d spent in the fortress was still easily quantifiable in hours.

Cullen had also heard his men whispering accounts of finding the Inquisitor among the horses, by herself, rubbing down the great Forder she rode and sneaking him treats. Strange behavior for a noble lady, but he had long since realized that there was far more to his Inquisitor than her station. 

Still, her flight from him was a whole different sort of strange behavior. For flight it had been, what else could such a sudden retreat be called? Had she come down here specifically to speak with him? Had he misstepped somehow?

He’d felt her freeze when he touched her. Perhaps, he had been too forward by laying his hands on her so freely. Cullen rubbed the back of his neck, he’d only wanted to tell her… his mouth went dry as he realized he had no idea what he’d been intending to say. 

Not at all what he had actually said, he knew that much. Mainly because he was fairly certain he hadn’t made much sense. Maker, he couldn’t even remember what he had said to her just moments ago! That was not a side affect of the lyrium withdrawal, it was her. 

The woman was disarming. 

He groaned inwardly, how disrespectful: referring to her as ‘the woman’ when she was the Inquisitor and the Herald of Andraste. He knew she didn’t believe she was the Herald, but that didn’t bother him in the slightest. He had narrowly escaped death enough times to know divine providence when he saw it. The Maker had sent her to them, no matter what titles she chose to accept.

Yes, that was a much more suitable way of thinking. Far better than the train of thoughts she had sent screaming through his head back in Haven when she idly questioned him regarding his vows. He knew she was fully aware of what Templar vows entailed, he had enough experience with women to be sure when one was asking him a question just to see if he’d blush. 

Cullen barely suppressed a groan. He might know when a woman was baiting him; however, he quite clearly did not have enough skill to avoid the trap. Perhaps it was more innocent than he had assumed. Cullen had seen her lay a soft hand on Blackwall’s arm and playfully slap Bull on the shoulder. She flirted _shamelessly_ with Dorian. Perhaps it all meant nothing.

Still, it sent shivers down his spine every time he recalled her looking up at him from under her lush black lashes as she asked if he had taken any vows to ‘abstain from pleasures of the flesh’ that one day right out on the training yard. Even if he had done such a ridiculous thing; he was not a Templar anymore, but a man free to do as he pleased.

Cullen felt his neck grow warm and spots of color spread across his face. Now he was thinking even worse thoughts than he had been in the first place. How had that happened? 

He rubbed his neck. He did not have long to feel frustrated before Knight-Captain Rylen was there with a fresh stack of reports. Cullen had never been more grateful for the interruption. 

Rylen must have noted that something was off with the Commander. For once, Cullen was nearly thankful for the sometimes visible symptoms of lyrium withdrawal, readily conjuring several plausible excuses if pressed. He paused for a moment, and it occurred to him that he was speaking with Varric all too often. 

“All right, Commander?” Rylen asked.

“Yes, Knight-Captain,” Cullen said quickly, hoping the man would accept the brief answer, “Thank you for asking.” 

Rylen nodded uncertainly. The Knight-Captain hesitated, then said, “I’ve just been standing here for a… er - a while.” 

Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose. “My apologies, Rylen. I was… deep in thought,” he said, choosing a simple version of the truth - there, the dwarf’s wild stories could hang. 

Cullen thought he heard Rylen mutter something under his breath that seemed to sound like, ‘deep in her too, if y’like.’ 

He looked sharply at his second in command. Cullen could not acknowledge the remark for fear of his own thoughts perverting what he had heard. The other man just smirked and shrugged.

The Commander made a disgruntled noise not unlike a growl in the back of this throat. Rylen chuckled nervously as Cullen gathered up the reports. 

“I suppose I will need to find a place to work… preferably somewhere accessible for the messengers, but out of the way.” 

Perhaps, if he just found a remote corner of the fortress then Lady Inquisitor Trevelyan would not bother to find him and he would work in peace. Besides, she wouldn’t end up spending very much time in Skyhold. There was so much to be done in both Ferelden and Orlais.

Yes, he would seclude himself. Avoid her. What could go wrong?


	4. A Gift

They had gone all the way to the Fallow Mire to rescue a squad of lost soldiers. And they’d taken their time in returning across the Hinterlands, closing rifts and helping refugees as they found them. Norah had lost track of exactly how long they had been away from Skyhold, but, she did know that Varric, Dorian, and Blackwall were more than relieved to be returning. Admittedly, some more than others.

It was early in the day and they were fairly close to their destination, so they rode slowly, enjoying the unseasonably warm weather. Varric rode with her. He hated every second of it, she was sure, but he insisted it was better than a pony. Norah’s guess was that the first time she had pulled him up behind her onto the big brown horse, it was his first time riding at all… or near enough to make no matter. They had teased him about it throughout the journey. Varric had retaliated by giving them all awful nicknames.

“I can’t believe I’m actually _not_ freezing!” Dorian exclaimed, lifting his face up to bask in the bright morning sunlight.

“I wouldn't get used to it.” Blackwall grumbled.

“Always with the doom and gloom, are all Wardens this dour? Ugh,” Dorian shuddered, “No wonder you disappear for ages at a time; if you stuck around, everyone in Thedas would _want_ the darkspawn to win.”

Blackwall made a disgruntled noise and spurred his mount a little ahead of the mage. The rest of the party laughed. “Don’t let him bother you, Hero,” Varric called out happily, “All you need to do to shut him up is ask about his voyage across the Waking Sea!”

Dorian brought a hand to his stomach, somehow making the simple motion a dramatic gesture. “Perish the thought,” he wailed, “I am positive I’ll start to heave if I even think about it for too long. Do let’s poke fun at someone else now.”

“You _are_ looking a little peaked, sweetling,” Norah cooed teasingly, as she reached out to brush a loose lock of Dorian’s hair back into place. He swatted her hand away with his staff and pouted. She sucked on her knuckles and tried not to mirror her friend’s pout.

“I’ve had enough of pet names on this journey. Perhaps you can save further inspiration for scrawling in-between little hearts inscribed with our Commander’s name.” Dorian snapped, with a pointedly arched eyebrow thrown in her direction.

Norah tried to look as affronted as she possibly could. “Excuse me, Serah?” said coldly as she arched her own eyebrow right back at the mage. He twirled his mustache in his fingers, pretending not to notice. She felt Varric shaking with laughter behind her in the saddle.

“Sparkler, I think you might have touched a nerve, there,” he chuckled.

“Maker as my witness, Varric, I will throw you from this horse if you breathe another word,” Norah growled.

“Definitely touched _something_ ,” the dwarf continued cheekily. Without hesitation, Norah reined in hard, startling both Varric and their mount. She allowed the forder to dance in place as he pulled against the bit. She easily kept her seat, the horse wasn’t anywhere near out of control, but Varric clung to her anyway.

“Dorian, I believe Master Tethras was saying something. Do you recall what it was?” she asked, her voice suddenly sweet as she bounced in the saddle.

“Why, yes, I do seem to recall that he was commenting on how easily flustered you became when I mentioned a certain Commander. I _always_ knew you were the sort of girl who fancied strapping, young Templars.” Dorian smirked smugly at her, “Now, please, if you’d kindly stop jostling the dwarf.” She brought the horse to a standstill, for once at a loss of a facile story. Varric patted her on the arm.

“Easy, Freckles,” he said, using the awful nickname on purpose, “I think it’s pretty clear, but if you want to pretend that nothing is happening between you and Curly, that’s fine by me.”

“But, nothing _is_ happening!” she cried.

Dorian laughed, “Why deny one of the things I find most adorable about you? You’re smitten. And, Andraste’s sweet ass, I can see why! The man has the shoulders to carry off those pauldrons - you don’t see that too often. And I’ve heard tales of Templar discipline, even back home. Just think about all the ways he could put that to good use now that he’s required to serve _you_ and not those withered old hens in the Chantry.”

Had she honestly considered this wretched man her friend? No, a friend would not torment another so. Her mouth had gone dry as soon as the mage had brought up Cullen’s shoulders. Of course, she had noticed his beautifully broad shoulders - she had undressed the man with her eyes at every possible opportunity. Truly, Norah was thankful Dorian had not brought up Cullen’s large, rough hands and long, calloused fingers - she found herself thinking about them anyway and groaning to herself.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said stubbornly as she dug her heels in. She could ride away from Dorian, but Varric was stuck behind her until they reached Skyhold. There would be no escaping the author’s prying. Not that there was a thing to pry into - she asked him teasing questions in Haven? That was nothing. She’d spent a great deal of time visiting her twin once he’d been sent to the Circle. They had played a game where Lyam would point out a guard and she would try to make him blush. He had died and Norah had continued to tease Templars in his memory. That was all. What else could be used against her? The one time Cullen had touched her arm and turned her into stammering mess? She’d never actually tell anybody about that. Her secret was safe. No matter what Dorian had said, there were no… doodles.

“If I were an observant dwarf -” Varric began, “-which I’m not, I drink far too much, but, if I _were_ … Well, I would have noticed that he only smiles when he looks at you.” Norah twisted in the saddle to look back at him, she was sure she would find him smirking. Instead, he was tapping his chin thoughtfully. She felt her stomach drop.

“Please tell me you aren’t thinking of picking up ‘Swords & Shields’ again, are you?” she asked quietly.

“Ah, Freckles, that depends entirely on you,” he replied with a soft chuckle. Norah helplessly threw her head back and laughed. Blackwall looked back at them askance and pointed to the road cutting back and forth across the slopes ahead.

“The road up to the causeway,” he said, “We’re just about home.”

They rode into the fortress not half an hour later. Leliana’s scouts must have marked their approach and sent word ahead; the Nightingale, herself, was waiting to greet them in the upper courtyard, Lady Montilyet by her side. Norah did not see the Commander anywhere. She forced her disappointment down and smiled brightly for her present advisors. “My ladies! By your presence, I assume that there are several new crises arising currently across Thedas that I must attend to? Once again, my bath must wait,” she laughed as she dismounted. Josephine and Leliana joined in her mirth.

“It is good to see you too, Inquisitor.” Josephine smiled, “News of your successes in the Fallow Mire and across the Hinterlands has greatly improved morale here. And, as you can see, the repairs are going extremely well.”

Leliana waved her hand impatiently, as if dismissing the mundane updates for something more important, “But, really, Josie and I came out to greet you because we have a surprise for you.” The Spymaster’s face broke into a huge, knowing grin. Norah had never seen her display emotion so openly before, it almost made her nervous. “Also, I found out an interesting piece of information.” That most definitely made Norah nervous.

“That sounds ominous. Perhaps, I could just have the surprise? Unless that’s ominous as well.” Norah deflected, laughing softly. She looked about, her horse had already been lead away by a groom and her traveling companions had already dispersed - no doubt in search of cold ale or a warm meal. She began to unwind her long scarf for want of something to do.

Leliana laughed lightly, a musical sound that held no hint of malice. “All this time… Why did you not tell me you are related to Queen Arella?” she asked, “You must know I was one of her companions during the Blight. We are dear friends, though I have not seen her in years. When I met you, in Haven, your eyes seemed so familiar - oh, it bothered me endlessly at the time. They are a very particular pale blue, just like hers. They run in the family, no?”

Norah breathed deeply in relief. “Her family, yes. It’s a little out of place to see them in mine, but then, I thought it fitting. I’ve always felt a little out of place there anyway.” She smiled as Josephine and Leliana each took her by the arm and began to guide her down the keep’s main stairs. “I assumed you had remembered; I was at the royal wedding. We met… very briefly.”

Leliana stopped them all short, her eyes wide. “That was _you_!?” Her hand shot up to her forehead, “Of course, how could I be so blind! Fergus even introduced you as ‘little Eleonorah’!”

“I was fifteen… and honestly, everyone is little compared to Fergus!” Norah protested.

Leliana recovered enough to start the party moving again. “Sixteen,” she corrected, “You were adorable. And polite. What happened!?” All three women laughed at that.

With a start, Norah realized that she had been cleverly distracted. Josephine noticed and squeezed her right arm. “I suppose it is time to let you in on the secret,” she said in a conspiratorial manner, “In such a short time, you have already done so much for us. We thought it would be nice if we could do a little something in return. I’d already known you were very fond of our horses, so I had Leliana do a little digging.” Norah looked over to see Leliana was smirking on her left.

“It was not at all that hard.” Leliana said, almost lazily, “Apparently, everyone in Ostwick and about… hmm… say, half of Starkhaven claims to know the whole story.” Norah grasped for a charm around her throat that wasn’t there, a sure sign that she was feeling vulnerable. The story Leliana was referring to was one she was not proud of. It was about five years ago that her father had taken his heir and his spare to the Grand Tourney in Starkhaven. Ethan, the eldest and the Trevelyan heir, was not allowed to compete; however, Bryant, the spare, was to ride in the joust. Norah was loath to recall it all, for even after so much time she was still angry.

Bryant was an awful rider; it didn’t matter that he knew how to hold a lance if he couldn’t hold his seat on the bloody horse. Norah knew _she_ was the best rider the Trevelyans had produced in centuries. She had made the argument for herself ages before the Tourney, but her father had not listened. Despite the fact that, for years, riding had been the only endeavor her parents had encouraged her in. Ironically, that was the point from which all contention then arose: the gorgeous grey Orlesian courser her parents had procured. If she had been allowed to sleep in the stall with that horse, she would have… and they were giving him to Bryant for the Tourney. They were giving him to the one sibling who delighted in destroying everything she loved.

It was worse than if they had given him to her elder sister. Minisa was a mere annoyance, Bryant was cruel. Norah had been convinced the poor beast would be lamed, so she disguised herself and swore to see Bryant knocked out of the competition before he could maim her beloved horse. In the end, she had to face down two other opponents before she was staring at her unknowing brother on the other end of the lists. It did not take long.

Being nobility, it was Bryant’s privilege to face only the best of the common rabble; it was his first bout. Norah unhorsed him easily. She also took his lance to the face, but kept her seat despite blacking out. That was how she had broken her nose. The next thing she had known was Ethan pulling her out of the saddle and trying to stop her bleeding, while she laughed hysterically as her father disavowed any child of his who would put a horse before family ‘honor’. As punishment, she never saw the courser again. Her father forewent the small fortune the animal would bring to leave it locked up on the estate, so Norah would never forget what her pride had wrought. To think that after all this time, someone had gotten him to give up the horse…

“Josephine, you didn’t…” Norah began, stunned.

“No, I personally, did not,” she replied with a small smile. The little Antivan was saying something else, but Norah missed it. She had seen her horse.

He was out in the stable yard with Master Dennett and two grooms trying to calm him so he could be saddled. Norah was unbuckling her daggers, stripping off her gloves and jacket, and rolling up her sleeves without even noticing as she moved toward the animal. He was exactly how she had remembered, all strong, clean lines and thickly corded muscles. Stepper, she’d called him - because he was too spirited to ever stand still.

She reached out and gently took his reins. The horse had stopped thrashing for barely a full breath, but Norah leapt up instantly and took off around the yard, holding on with her knees, heedless of her lack of saddle. She had forgotten what it was like to truly ride - to have a mount that knew your every move before you made it while seeming to fly easily across any distance. Even after all this time, Stepper hadn’t forgotten. The horse seemed to mirror his rider’s joy and broke into a full gallop.

*

The Inquisitor was going to break her neck. Cullen had been content to watch her from a safe distance upon the battlements until she had started to gallop bareback around the yard. His feet were bringing him down the stairs before he could think of a reason to stop them. He found himself standing beside Blackwall in the shadowed eaves of the stables. The Warden nodded his acknowledgment and returned to watching the Inquisitor with open admiration. Cullen felt something in his chest twist violently as he noted that look - she had been on the road with Blackwall for weeks, who could say what might have happened in a darkened tent one cold night.

He shook himself. He had no right to make any claims or pass any judgments. While she had been gone, Cullen had made a solemn vow to himself: he would watch from afar, but he would not overstep himself again. He would do his job, assist her in any way he could, but he would always remember she was the Inquisitor. He would not look at her the way a man could look at a woman… the way Blackwall was looking at her.

In a blur of red and grey, she reined up before him and Cullen had no choice but to step back and drink her in, the picture of breathless joy. Her hair was loose and wind-whipped, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes sparkled brightly. She was panting lightly, puffy little clouds of hot breath spreading out from her full lips. The Warden stepped between them to offer his hand to help the dismounting Inquisitor.

Blackwall chucked as she leapt from the horse without touching him, “You’d have to have been born riding to master a mount like that.”

“Mm… I was,” she replied absently, lost in nuzzling the courser’s soft nose. A groom approached and she wasted no time in giving the young man many detailed instructions. She clearly loved the beast beyond measure, it was evident in her eyes as she watched the groom work. Cullen found it quite endearing.

Blackwall cleared his throat to gain her attention. “Inquisitor?” he asked, the expectation of clarification was clear in his voice. How did the man put so much meaning into one word?

“Another time,” she smiled warmly. Blackwall nodded politely. To Cullen, her smile seemed directed at him alone and that was all that mattered; other than that, she had not yet acknowledged his presence. Another person stepped between them to claim her attention, and the Commander released the breath he didn’t know he had been holding.

Master Dennett was clapping the Inquisitor on the shoulder. “If I had known that was the kind of horse you were used to riding, Your Worship, I’d have been a little less hesitant about letting you take the forder,” he laughed heartily.

“Nonsense,” she replied, waving away the comment, “If you’d have been any less thorough, I’d have been _rather_ concerned about your mounts.” Josephine and Leliana approached, carrying the Inquisitor’s discarded clothing and weapons, respectively. They blessedly stood flanking her shoulders instead of adding to the bodies keeping him from being close her. No, Cullen caught himself, the distance was exactly what he wanted.

“I take it you are pleased with our surprise?” Josephine asked. He had never seen the Inquisitor so flustered - she could not convey her thanks fast enough and, with a grin, gave up and simply engulfed the smaller woman in a swift hug for a few moments before turning her attentions on Leliana.

“How did you two ever manage this? I thought the old man would rather choke than see that horse returned to me,” she cried into the other redhead’s hood.

Leliana gently removed the Inquisitor’s arms from around her neck. The Spymaster’s deft hands quickly smoothed dark, red hair into place and even gently brushed a thumb under the Inquisitor’s eye - wiping away any evidence of whatever had drawn her attention. “My part was truly small. Like I said, the tale was freely told, and Josie made the proper inquiries, but…” Leliana paused and looked pointedly through the crowd, directly at Cullen.

He willed his face into a mask of cool indifference. He hoped he had at least achieved a fraction of that. Everyone gathered in the stable was looking at him, but the only eyes that held his were hers. They were searching him for something, piercing his armor and his feeble mask. All he could manage was a shy half-smile, meant solely for her. He felt the back of his neck turn red and reached a hand up to rub uncertainly.

Leliana continued, “You should actually be thanking our Commander most of all. Bann Trevelyan agreed to give Stepper to us, as long as we could provide him proper transport from Ostwick to Skyhold. Josie and I had agreed that a small party was best for speed and discretion - the horse is very valuable, after all. But, Commander Cullen vehemently disagreed. He insisted we send a full battalion of our soldiers, to hedge against the chance that your father might find some deal-breaking flaw. _Apparently_ , the Bann has a rather unscrupulous reputation. I had no idea.”

Cullen did not miss Leliana’s tone, he knew he had fallen face first in that little trap the day it happened. Josephine gracefully ignored the comment, “We are lucky the Commander insisted on so many soldiers. It seems the diplomat in charge did not think it wise to march in with all his men right away, and was given quite a hard time.” The Inquisitor’s look changed, her eyes full of an unspoken apology, and in that moment he couldn’t think of her as anything but ‘Norah’.

He did not think he’d said her name aloud. Perhaps, it escaped on an exhaled breath, but he most definitely did not annunciate it.

When she crashed into him, throwing her arms about his neck, he was far too stunned to do anything but awkwardly pat her back. She brought her mouth up to his ear, though he was sure she had to stand on her toes to reach, and whispered, “You… can’t imagine what your effort means to me, Cullen.” Her warm breath tickling his ear would have been enough to drive any man mad with desire.

When he finally found his voice, it was stiff, “It was nothing at all, there was other business in the area as well and…” The words came out in a rush. Cullen cleared his throat and made his tone soft for her, “You are very welcome, my lady.”

Norah said nothing, but laid a light kiss on his cheek. Her lips were soft beyond reason. If he had thought he was near madness before, it was only because he had not yet known their feathery touch. He knew his face had turned bright red. She smiled up at him mischievously and quickly withdrew, Josephine and Leliana at her heels, waving ‘good days’ as she went.

A swift slap on the back brought him back to his remaining company. Master Dennett left a fatherly hand on his shoulder and Blackwall eyed him appraisingly. “Between you and I, son, you’ve got to be careful with a woman who can ride like that.” Dennett said sagely, “She’ll have a bit between your teeth before you notice and when you do, you’ll be enjoying yourself too much to care.”

Cullen stared at the older man as he returned to work without another word. Blackwall laughed aloud and said, “I know you think of her as the Herald, but, she’s not a spirit of purity from the Fade, she’s a woman. You must know that or she’ll eat you alive.” The Warden chuckled to himself as he left the Commander alone in the stable to ruminate.

If swallowing him whole was truly her intent, Cullen was not sure he had the will to stop her.


	5. Checkmate

The plan was to leave for Crestwood on the morrow. That was when Norah would deal with corruption in the Wardens. Whatever that meant, exactly. She would also deal with Mya Hawke. Rolled up with her was Varric and Cassandra, and their drama in the armory. Norah curled up and pulled the blanket over her head. Josephine had gone to so much trouble to procure just the right four-poster Marcher-made bed, the least she could do was try to nap in it just once. But, sleep was not something she came by easily anymore. She irritably flung off the covers. Norah had made sure to complete her business in the morning, giving herself the time to sleep, eat, and drink as she saw fit. One last night of comfort before cold camps.

She rolled out of bed and fussed over her looks in front of a mirror. If she had ever been inclined to honesty, she’d admit the time was not truly meant to be spent napping. She couldn’t believe that the practical Commander would blindly risk his men for something so frivolous as a kind gesture for her… and then flee every time he was not required to be in her presence. Half the time Norah had summoned her advisors, it was just so she had an excuse to study him. The man did not make any sense to her. Men had _always_ been simple. She paused in the mirror, judging herself presentable, but, she couldn’t suffer the idle hands and began to pace her quarters from bed to the balcony.

At first, Norah assumed she had misread him. Then, she had caught the man _gazing_ at her over the map table. It was the sort of look she hadn’t thought the Templar could muster, buttoned up and formal as he was. Then again, he thought no one could see. She was very careful about that, no matter how badly she ached to meet his eyes. Norah kept it all to herself; clearly something was holding him back and she would not force his hand.

Though, it turned out that she was not the only person in Skyhold with eyes. Several more of her companions _and_ Leliana had noticed. Each in their own fashion found ways to slyly prod her about it. Norah found herself awkwardly protecting the innocence of a nonexistent relationship. It was bizarre. She paused her pacing at the balustrade looking down into the garden. Even from high up in her tower, she could clearly see Dorian. The mage was impossible to miss at any distance. He was sitting with another man hunched over a table. All she could see was his back, then he raised his head and the sun glinted off Cullen’s golden hair. Norah gripped the railing with white knuckled hands; Dorian had been the first to observe the tension. She marked the sun’s position - it was past four, the mage would definitely be drinking. What a perfect opportunity to place herself informally in the Commander’s path, since she clearly had to get down there and shut Dorian’s mouth for him before he embarrassed her.

*

Cullen hadn’t realized how much he’d missed holding the solid ebony pieces. He knew he had missed the game… and having a worthy opponent. He was not sure why Dorian had herded him out into the garden, but surely it was not to play chess. The mage was abysmal, even as he blatantly cheated. Cullen didn’t have the heart to combat his rampant boasting, so he set about discreetly lulling Dorian into a false sense of security. Allowing the man to run his mouth inordinately until he was ready to unveil his trap. Just as Cullen decided on the course of the game, Dorian produced a bottle of wine.

Ah, there was the reason he’d been brought out here. The Tevinter had probably gotten on Cabot’s bad side (again) and needed a place and a person to drink with. Cullen’s polite protest died on his lips, crushed against Dorian’s finger. “It’s late afternoon, no one will begrudge you a drink or two.” The mage primly sat back down, perfectly composed, as if he had not just lunged across the board. He uncorked the jug and tilted it toward the Commander.

“Late afternoon drinking?” Cullen smirked, taking the wine, “Is that a regular practice in Tevinter?” It was a strong red and, he assumed, it was a good vintage. Of course, Dorian would drink nothing less - it seemed that he had discovered the castle’s private reserve.

“Sadly, no. But, all-day drinking is my lady mother’s favorite hobby. I’ve learned to distill the good bits.” Dorian retorted, raising the jug to toast before tipping his head back to drink. The mage lazily made his move. With a pointed look at Cullen, he offered the wine, “Have another, you’ll need it to dull the pain of my inevitably crushing victory.”

The Commander took the bottle. He was just about ready to pull Dorian right down off his high, cheating horse. Then the game would be over, what harm would a little more wine do? “Gloat all you like, I have this one.” he said, placing a piece on the board and taking a long, unhurried drink. Cullen caught a glimpse of her dark, red hair in the center of the garden and smiled.

Dorian made no attempt at discretion as he followed Cullen’s eyes. “Are you _sassing_ me, Commander?” Dorian regarded him carefully, “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

He cheerily waved the Inquisitor over to join them. Cullen groaned. He had been diligently observing his vow to keep his distance from her after the day in the stables. He thought he had been subtle, but clearly Dorian’s intention was to torment. The mage was a wretched, nosy man. She approached with a gracious smile and a quip for both men, “I hope you two are playing nice.”

“I _always_ play nice,” came Dorian’s swift reply as Cullen attempted to bow in a proper greeting for the Inquisitor. He tried to stand so quickly he didn’t push his chair back far enough for his knees to clear the table and his armor clattered against the stone noisily.

The mage could not resist commenting, “Oh, leaving, are you? Does this mean I win?”

The Commander ground his teeth and muttered “Why do I even bother?”

The Inquisitor laid a gentle hand on Cullen’s shoulder and pushed him down, “Please, don’t stop on my account.” He settled back and she stood over him, studying the board. In that moment, Cullen was incredibly thankful that he had already completed the game in his head. She was not close enough to touch him, but he could feel her through all his layers of plate armor and wool padding. He could feel her keenly, as if her bare skin were only inches from his own. If he had not already won the game, he would be having a difficult time - even against Dorian.

The mage reclined after placing his piece. “You’ll feel much better after you accept defeat,” he said with a smirk.

Cullen’s eyes swept over the board; it was finally time. He made his last preordained move. He felt his face take on the smug cast he was so accustomed to seeing on his sister back when they were children. She had trounced him at chess repeatedly, until the one day he’d wiped that look right off her face. Just as he was about to do with this prim Tevinter.

“ _Really_?” he replied, “Because I just won and I feel fine.” Cullen couldn’t suppress the satisfaction in his voice He sat back contentedly and took a swig of victory wine while Dorian looked over the board. The Inquisitor laughed softly at the mage as his defeat registered on his face.

“Don’t get smug.” Dorian huffed, “There’ll be no living with you.” He gracefully stood to leave and unceremoniously slapped the Inquisitor’s backside. She turned on him, her outrage plainly written on her reddening face. Dorian just chuckled. “I thought that’s what you fighters _do_.” he said defensively, “Keep the wine.”

And with that, he was gone in a few dramatic sweeping steps. There was an odd moment of silence as Cullen realized he was alone with the Inquisitor. Her face was still pink from Dorian’s unexpected attention. There was little time before he would have to excuse himself, but, he couldn’t help looking as she was elsewhere. It had become habit. When she blushed, her freckles stood out. He caught himself trying to count them when she met his gaze. Cullen found the words forming on the tip of his tongue, and before he even knew what they were, he had said: “I should… return to my duties. Unless… you would care to play?” He did not think that her smile could have been any brighter.

“Prepare the board, Commander,” she nodded as she took a seat.

Cullen knew he had to fill any silence. He wasn’t sure if the wine had made him talkative or if he just didn’t trust himself to sit quietly with her. So, he told her about the only thing he could think of that wasn’t an update on his hopeless count; his sister and their chess games. It was very odd, he hadn’t talked about his siblings to anybody in years. No one in Kirkwall had asked and he truly had not minded. But, now, here was this woman - the Inquisitor, no less - asking to hear more.

He tried to deflect, “My Lady Inquisitor, surely you have no- I mean, perhaps you could tell me of Ostwick, instead?”

She calmly made her opening move and, then, burst into laughter. “‘ _My Lady Inquisitor_ ,’ please!” she gestured around the garden, “There’s not even anyone else here! For the love of Andraste, I’m just Norah.”

He hesitated; he had never called her by her name before. Not out loud. Not to her face. She reached across the table and for a heart-stopping moment, he thought she might be reaching for him. Instead, she picked up the wine and sniffed it delicately, swirling it lightly before taking a sip. He took longer than he truly needed to make his move.

“Very well,” he said gruffly, “Norah,” He noticed the tiny shiver she had not quite been able to hide when he said her name. She smirked and Cullen was suddenly reminded of what Dennett and Blackwall had said to him in the stables. His mouth was dry, but he could not afford even another drop of wine when so near this woman.

“That wasn’t so hard,” she teased, and quickly placed a piece on the board, “Now, I believe you were telling me about your family?”

He again took his time, pondering if, perhaps, he should be letting her win. He smiled uncertainly, “There isn’t much more to tell. We lived outside a small village, not much of note occurred there. I don’t-” he stopped himself and made his move.

“Don’t what? Please, Cullen, I’d hate to think you’re holding anything back.” Norah said softly, never taking her eyes off him as she took her turn.

He was sure the caress in her voice was intentional. She had delighted in making him blush, almost from the very day they’d met. Cullen then decided two things: first, he would destroy her mercilessly in this game and, second, he would no longer walk on eggshells around her. She had, after all, asked him to do just that. It would be unchivalrous of him to ignore a lady’s request. He was no longer a Templar, but he would always be a knight.

“I don’t think it would be at all interesting to a Lady such as yourself,” he said simply, emphasizing the capital.

Her eyebrows rose. “Oh, of course!” she drawled sarcastically, “Because I’m of noble birth, I have no interest in the lives of others. How silly of me to forget.” She helped herself to more wine. “I couldn’t possibly have thought that you seemed happy to speak of them and might want to continue. No, that would be far beyond the empathic abilities of a noblewoman. Especially a Marcher.” she finished conversationally. 

He hung his head. How unworthy that he had just been thinking of himself as chivalrous?

She laughed merrily at him, “You look like you swallowed something and it moved. Your turn.” Cullen looked up at her sharply, his resolve hardening. He had never taken well to being laughed at, even as a child he had always been serious. He made the first in a series of aggressive moves, let her try to be glib while she was bleeding pieces.

*

Norah had thought herself a generally good chess player. When she was young, her parents hadn’t really cared about shaping her education beyond what the Chantry brothers taught. Her eldest siblings, however, had all sorts of lessons meant to mold young leaders. If she was intrigued by a topic, she would simply spy on the lesson. Thusly, Norah had learned many things that were not intended for her. Chess had been one of those things.

The battle-master had taught Ethan the game as a tool to help him understand tactics, Norah had enjoyed any chance to prove how wily she could be. After Lyam died, Ethan was the only sibling she would speak to and even then, the pair spent hours silently playing chess. Ethan was very good, Norah was decent, but their familiarity with each other had made the speculative part of the game far easier. She found herself in a very different situation with the Commander.

She had teased him and then he had become inscrutable. It didn’t help that her head was a little fuzzy and she kept getting distracted by that scar on his mouth. She wanted so badly to trace it with her tongue. She should not have had more wine. She had been trying to play it straight, but Cullen had her on the defensive. Norah knew that desperate measures were called for in order to win. The first step would be distraction.

Norah leaned forward over the table and pushed the nearly empty wine bottle towards Cullen. “Finish it,” she said imperiously.

Cullen laughed. Norah hadn’t expected him to do _that_. It was almost like he knew what the sound of it did to her. She felt warm all over, although… that was the wine. Of course, it was only the wine. Norah sighed, lying to herself was of no use. She had to make him stop laughing or she’d be over the table, throwing herself at him.

“What’s so funny?” she asked helplessly.

The sound blessedly came to an end as Cullen replied, “You.” She motioned for him to continue. “You think you should be treated no differently than anyone else, but then you say and do things like that.”

She tilted her head, “Like what?”

“Like there is no doubt in your mind I will do exactly as you command,” he said, trailing off into an uneasy chuckle.

Norah suspected there was more he had left unsaid, but she was too busy trying not to unbutton her suddenly stuffy high-necked top to press him.

*

His last sentence was meant to end with ‘and you would be right,’ but Cullen had stopped himself just in time. She was so disarming, despite the fact that he knew she was doing it on purpose. He had seen her deftly palm one of her pieces back when she had passed him the wine, he could tell she was trying to distract him. Let her think her ruse had worked. No matter how many pieces Norah tried to steal back, he was still going to beat her. Then, he saw her eyes take on an impish glow.

“Well,” she purred, “Shouldn’t you do as your Inquisitor asks, Commander Cullen?” She nudged the wine just a little closer and he noticed another piece was missing.

He acquiesced her request just to stop the thieving. He would still win, but that didn’t mean she couldn't make it difficult. He placed the jug back down on her side of the table, blocking her from her surrendered pieces. “My Inquisitor, again? I thought you just wanted to be Norah,” he used her name deliberately, watching her closely for any little quivers.

She unbuttoned her high collar quickly, exposing her neck. He was not disappointed, he could see her pulse racing from across the table. No, he was no longer sitting casually back in his chair; but, he was on the edge of his seat, leaning hungrily over the board.

*

She hadn’t expected him to react so… overtly. The way he growled her name was even worse than his laugh. She slid one leg over the other, trying vainly to crush the swelling warmth between them. “I suppose this makes me both,” she waved the anchor in front of him, “Though, I find it regrettable that you seem more comfortable with the ‘Lady Inquisitor’ than just me,” she said quietly.

After a long pause, she made her move, covertly placing a stolen piece back on the board strategically. Doing so, she reached into his grasp. Cullen seized her wrist and she went perfectly still, of course the Templar would catch her cheating. His grip was completely unlike the last time he had touched her. Then it had been firm, this time it was fierce.

She sucked in a sharp breath and could not resist a smirk as she exhaled, he had not noticed the piece. “Check,” she smiled.

“Norah,” he said in a voice like velvet as his thumb began to make small circles on her wrist. “You presume too much.” She bit her bottom lip just to keep her mouth closed, she did not trust her tongue around him.

*

Cullen relinquished his vice-like grip on her wrist just to slide his fingers down to grasp her hand. He brought it to his mouth and just barely grazed her knuckles with his lips. He did not know what he was doing or why, only that it felt right. Cullen watched her over the back of her hand as he pressed his lips to her skin properly and let it fall away. He thought he heard her barely stifle a moan. He grinned. She laughed huskily, “Do you know what you’re supposed to do next, Templar?”

It was his turn to laugh. Oh, he knew what to do. He had so many ideas it made his head spin, but he wouldn’t act on a single one. No matter how her sparkling ice eyes seemed to ask him to. Instead, he placed a final piece on the board, “Checkmate.”

She abruptly sat up, surprise sounding in her voice as she exclaimed, “Wait, what!?”

Cullen laughed again, “Dorian cheats at this as well.” With a slight ‘ah’ she rolled her eyes and rested her head in her palm, expectantly gazing at him. He realized that with the game over, there was nothing keeping him in the garden with her. Cullen suddenly became very self conscious, he felt the flush creep up his throat. He reached an idle hand back to rub his neck. “I… believe this is the longest we’ve ever gone without discussing the Inquisition…” he said, lacking anything better, “To be honest, I’ve… appreciated the distraction.”

He froze as he felt her foot lightly rub up against his leg. “We should spend more time together,” Norah sighed, “I could attempt to distract you further.”

He groaned audibly and reluctantly pushed away from her. Cullen wracked his brain for an excuse to leave, but only came up with heated images of throwing aside the table between them and taking her right there in the garden. He could feel her piercing eyes watching him closely, it was most unnerving - almost as if she knew and encouraged his wicked thoughts.

This encounter had taken an unexpected turn. He felt slightly dizzy. Cullen stood slowly, without looking at her. He most definitely needed to seek immediate refuge far away in his office. “I have neglected my work for too long,” he said quietly. He paused to meet her gaze one last time before he left, just to prove to himself that he could and felt all his resolve crumble. “Norah,” he growled her name in the way that seemed to set her shivering, “Discipline does not typically allow for diversion… However, you are more than welcome to try,” his voice dipped lower, “I’m sure I’ll enjoy your efforts.”

Perhaps one day he would come to terms with the way his mouth ran rampant around her, but this was not that day. Maker, what had he just started?

*

The Commander hastily retreated and Norah collapsed back into her chair. When he abruptly pulled away, she had thought she had pushed him too far. But, then he had invited _her_ to pursue _him_. Norah did not mind being the hunter, in fact, she usually preferred the chase, but she had not thought Cullen the sort of man who would allow himself to be prey.

He had decimated her in their game without breaking a sweat, despite her cheating. Had the man been… asserting dominance? Was this just like chess, where he was subtly setting a trap for her to run headlong into? It seemed that now a new game was beginning. The sort of game where she was accustomed to having the upper hand.

She heard him say her name yet again in her head. It wasn’t just the sound of it, the repressed want, like he was saying something wrong; it was also the lovely way in which his scar tugged at the corner of his mouth. She was certain it would drive her mad. Perhaps she was not on much better footing than when she faced him across the board after all.


	6. An Unexpected Return

Skyhold had been fairly quiet ever since Norah had left. He no longer kept her locked away behind formality in his head. Cullen thought of her often and fondly, repeating her name in his mind as if to make up for lost time. Only in his head, though, he wasn’t that foolish. He was acutely aware of the looks passed between his peers and those companions left behind at the fortress. Josephine, at least, was too polite to mention anything. Leliana, on the other hand, had taken up subtly baiting him about it.

Whatever ‘it’ was - the definition varied based on the person teasing him. Cullen paused over his reports and pinched the bridge of his nose. He did not think it was irrational to be nervous around Norah. Especially, not when she was purposefully causing discomfort. Cullen knew now that he was infatuated in the worst way, and that he had been either too blind to see or too stubborn to admit it. Perhaps, a winning combination of both. He sighed, gathered up some papers, and left his office.

Norah was due back any day and he had wrestled with himself on what to do about that, if he should do anything at all. Part of him felt as if he had done enough: he answered her questions, he vowed to protect her, he’d sent all those men just for that damned horse… and it had delighted her. All of it had. He realized with a start that he would do anything to see her smile and felt utterly pathetic. She would eat him alive, Blackwall had said. The Warden was probably right; for here he was, ready to carry out her every whim and all she’d had to do was bite her bottom lip. He paused on the battlements connecting his office to the castle and chuckled to himself. Not that he would serve for free. He wanted so many things from her as payment… but, he pushed them from his thoughts. There was too much work to be done.

Cullen nodded briefly to Solas as he passed through the rotunda. The elf was one of the few who had said nothing, though that seemed mostly because he did not say much to anyone except the Inquisitor. The Commander did not mind, he simply made his way to the Ambassador’s office. Typically, that was where he found Josephine. She would be waiting for him to start their scheduled meetings with the Spymaster perched on the edge of her desk, already perusing the freshest reports. He was surprised to find that the Ambassador was not there.

Neither woman was anywhere in sight and he did not know what to make of that. The hand he casually left resting on his sword hilt tightened reflexively as he briskly strode down the corridor to the war room. He threw open the doors to reveal three women who immediately fell silent as he entered. Leliana and Josephine stood flanking a travel worn Norah. Her eyes met his and she smiled warmly.

Cullen had to stop himself from crossing the room in a few quick strides and wrapping her up in his arms right there. “Hello, Commander,” she said with a smirk, “I apologize for popping in unannounced.”

He grinned as he brought his fist to his chest and bowed slightly to her, “It _is_ your castle, Inquisitor, I believe you can ‘pop’ wherever you’d like.”

“I do hope you remember that later,” she replied with a wink.

Josephine coughed lightly and Leliana laughed quietly behind her hand. He flushed and rubbed the back of his neck. The soft rustling of leather and metal caught his attention. Mya Hawke seemed to materialize out of the shadows. Norah’s stealthy return suddenly made sense.

“Perhaps we can get down to business now? So, you all can go back to whatever it is that you do here and that way I get in a few hands of Wicked Grace and some pints with Varric before heading into the Western Approach. By the by, Commander Cullen, I am happy to see you’re doing well; the pauldrons are a good look.” Hawke took a deep breath after her rapid discourse and smiled her familiar, crooked smile.

During his time in Kirkwall she had been such a nuisance - cavorting with apostates as she did - but, he knew she had always meant well. A person’s intentions had to count for something. “Er- thank you, Champion. All things considered, you look to be well, yourself,” he said.

“If by ‘all things considered’ you mean ‘for a fugitive,’ then thank you,” she sighed theatrically, “The world’s gone mad and if you can’t blame me for the chaos, then you can pretty much blame the man I love. At least apostasy looks good on me.”

They all laughed at that. He had forgotten how easily Hawke could lighten a mood.

Something bothered him though, “What’s in the Western Approach?”

“Wardens,” Leliana answered, “It appears that the Orlesian Wardens have all begun to hear the Calling, which signifies that their end is near. Normally, they go one by one into the Deep Roads and perish fighting darkspawn. But, they are hearing it en masse and they are panicked…”

Hawke picked up the narrative, “My friend, Stroud, believes it may be Corephyus. They’ve all vanished now, except for the poor sods still out looking for him and a few he’s heard tell of out in the desert. They’re our best lead.”

Josephine moved to the map table and placed a marker in the Approach. “Warden Stroud believes his fellows are meeting here, at an abandoned Tevinter tower. It seems a plausible location, the ruin is not far from Adamant.”

Norah tapped a finger to her lips thoughtfully, “If you’re not opposed, Hawke, you should allow us to at least send Harding and some scouts with you. It will take us some time to lay provisions, but even if you leave by first light tomorrow you will still be able to catch up with Stroud.”

Hawke nodded, “I won’t say no to a night in a real bed.”

Cullen studied the map, “There is so much we do not know, how many Wardens are out there? Just the Orlesians? Or all of them?”

Leliana looked perplexed, “We have heard nothing of the Ferelden Wardens. And less to indicate that they have joined their Orlesian brothers.”

“From what I know of Warden-Commander Nathaniel, uprooting his order from Amaranthine would seem rather out of place.” Norah agreed, “Still, we must assume the worst.” And so they set about hashing out plans for several eventualities.

*

Norah did not like to think of herself as fatalistic or dour. But, she was a realist, and with the way her luck had been, she wasn’t inclined to rely on it. It was a few hours before they were even ready to consider leaving the war room. She was sure Mya was going to stab her. The other rogue had been on the road for an inordinate amount of time and claimed she would even face down Cassandra’s wroth if it meant that she could have a proper wash. Norah did not doubt she meant it. The Champion of Kirkwall was a formidable woman, though she rarely seemed to notice that fact. Mya tapped her foot in a rapid tattoo, not caring to disguise her impatience.

Norah sighed and ran her hand through her hair, trying to ignore the anchor as much as she could. When had she become so responsible? Carefully planning instead of haring off with her daggers and some potions and hoping for the best? She felt much older than her years allowed. It unsettled her to realize that maturity only meant finally comprehending the consequences of her actions. There was no secret wisdom that came with age. Or power, or strength, or ‘divinity,’ or anything else. Her mouth quirked into a smile despite her best attempts to suppress it. The world she was fighting so hard to save was a rather silly place. Maker, but she was tired. If she didn’t put an end to this meeting soon, she would start laughing like a loon and then what would the Commander think of her?

She raised up a hand and forestalled whoever was about to speak, she had long since ceased paying attention. “I think we are done here for now. I daresay Hawke deserves a rest.”

Mya nodded vigorously, “Lady Montilyet, is it you that I speak to regarding a bath, a beer, and a bed?”

“Oh! How rude of me!” Josephine exclaimed, ”Of course, right this way… Perhaps, I could also provide a change of clothes?”

The Antivan rambled on about soaps and new tailoring as she ushered Mya from the room. Leliana followed in their wake, shooting a meaningful look and a loaded smirk toward Norah before pulling the door closed behind her. The Commander was still hovering over the map, meticulously combing through the reports she and Mya had brought in before his arrival. Obviously, the Spymaster would be among the most meddlesome.

Norah shook her head, she was in no mood for games; Leliana couldn’t possibly be thinking clearly. For one thing, she was filthy from days of hard riding. And for another she was sore beyond belief. And tired, and hungry… perhaps she was not feeling much less stabby than Mya had seemed. She would just leave. He was so engrossed in the plethora of papers before him, there was no way he would notice. She hesitated for a moment, considering going into stealth just to be safe. Her caution was her undoing.

“Inquisitor, I am.. ah- relieved your journey was relatively quiet,” he murmured, not meeting her eyes as he stuffed the reports into a folio.

Instead of leaving, she went over to him and placed a staying hand on his gauntlet. He let go of the papers and finally looked at her. Now that she was close to him, she could see signs of stress written on his face. It seemed to Norah as if this man carried the weight of the world behind his amber eyes. The least she could do was put aside her soreness and distract him from his burdens.

“The others have gone,” she quietly observed, “I thought we were past hiding behind titles. If you’d like me to beg, I’d rather it were for something a little more interesting.”

Cullen chuckled softly, “Norah, I am yours to command.” Her breath caught in her throat as he reached out and gently brushed a lock of hair away from her face. “I could never make you beg.”

She found herself leaning into him, “But, what if I want you to?” she asked breathlessly.

His hand awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. Spots of color bloomed on his cheeks and she laughed out loud. It was far too easy to make this Templar blush.

*

Cullen swallowed the lump in his throat as he gently extricated her fingers from his cloak. Norah Trevelyan would _not_ eat him alive. He would not allow it. He was not just some toy that she could turn red whenever she felt like it! Whatever he did in those next crucial moments, he only made sure to not meet her icy eyes. If he did that, he would be undone. Her ringing laughter followed him down the corridor.

The woman was an awful tease and she was starting something he was not sure she would want to finish. He knew how he felt, but her position was not so clear. She seemed to flirt with everyone, naturally, as if she didn’t even realize she was doing it. And her thinly veiled innuendos? They could mean nothing. Sometimes, the way she looked at him made him feel as if he were the only man in her world. But, he could not be certain she wasn’t making Blackwall or Bull feel the same with every lingering glance framed in thick black lashes. His ever present lyrium headache throbbed a little harder than usual.

He needed a drink. Which his feet must have figured out much earlier since he was already making his way to the tavern. It was still too early for the place to be bustling; only it’s regular denizens were about - and even then a few were missing. He had just sat at the bar when Iron Bull and his lieutenant came crashing in. There was no other way to describe the pair - wherever they went they were loud and boisterous. And deceptively observant. Instead of taking their usual table, they sat down on either side of him.

“Just got back with the Boss not too long ago,” was all Bull said in greeting once he had a drink in hand, “You seen her yet?”

Before Cullen could reply, Krem slapped him on the back. “Of course he’s seen her! Wouldn’t be that red in the face otherwise,” he said to Bull, then to Cullen, “Bull will buy you another ale if you let us help you.”

A nod from the Iron Bull and Cabot silently placed another flagon in front of Cullen. He had barely started on the first.

“Help me?” he asked, draining his original drink. It would be rude not to accept the other.

“Yeah,” Bull shrugged, “She’s a redhead, more unpredictable than Rocky’s knock-off gaatlok. If you’re not up for that, I could step in. Show you how it’s done.” Cullen simply glared at the huge, horned Qunari. “Oh-ho! I see that’s out of the question.” Bull laughed, “You’re lucky you have to piss sitting down, Krem, otherwise the Commander here might be tempted to castrate us both just to keep his lady unsullied.”

“I thought the whole point of having a lady was _specifically_ to sully her.” Krem replied with a suggestive raise of his brows, “Sounds to me like someone ought to do it.”

Cullen knew he was turning redder by the moment, sandwiched between the two mercenaries and their vulgar talk.

“I’ve offered!” Bull exclaimed, “She knows who she wants. Gotta give the lady credit for that. But, I figure she can only hold out for him so long.”

“Norah is the Inquisitor.” Cullen protested, too flustered to catch the obvious subtext, “She deserves much more respect than you’re showing right now.”

Bull and Krem laughed uproariously. Krem even went so far as to bang his mug on the bar several times.

“You’d never be Ben-Hassrath,” Bull chucked to himself as he wiped tears of mirth from his eye. He put a heavy hand on Cullen’s shoulder and said, “Do we know the same Norah Trevelyan? Freckles, killer eyes, mischievous grin? Yeah, that girl has made _me_ blush! This much respect is the last thing she wants.”

Cullen shook his head, “What do you think she wants, then?”

Bull smirked, “What all redheads want: a firm hand and a stiff cock.”

The Commander groaned and pushed away from the bar. Why he thought Iron Bull would offer up real advice was beyond him. As he headed up the stairs, he heard the men’s laughter following him. Going up through the tavern’s attic was the quickest way back to his office, but it also brought him face to face with Sera. The tiny elf stood blocking his path at the top of the stairs, leaning casually against the railing. She made no secret of her eavesdropping, evidenced by her unabashed giggles.

“He’s not all wrong, y’know,” she grinned, “You want to treat our Norah like she’s all high up and holy, but she doesn’t want that stuff. If I were her, and all these big people were suddenly telling me what I am, I’d just want one someone who made me feel _me_. Y’know? But, still respect her though. Respect is good.”

She paused for a moment, seemingly considering if she had anything else to say. Cullen hoped she was finished, since he was busy trying to decipher her presently concluded diatribe. Thankfully, Sera just gave him a satisfied pat on the breastplate and returned to her quarters. If only he could make it back to his office without encountering another soul, he’d had just about as much ‘advice’ as he could handle.

*

Hours after Cullen had left it, Norah sat in the tavern with Varric and Mya. They had taken an early dinner together and kept their conversation light. All three expected to find the worst out in the desert and all three were determined to ignore it. Varric and Mya regaled her with tales of old times in Kirkwall. As they swapped increasingly different versions of each story, the laughter at the table grew louder. This was where Norah felt comfortable, with a flagon of ale in front of her and laughing rogue companions on either side. It felt familiar, though distantly so.

Her smile faded, it had not been such a long time ago that this sort of carousing was all her life truly consisted of. She had not realized how empty and alone she had felt then. Norah immediately shrugged it off; she was not alone now. Her friends surrounded her, but something was still missing. Suddenly, she realized that all she wanted was her stern Commander. Mya and Varric must have caught up to current events, for at that very moment, the Champion of Kirkwall brought him up in conversation.

“So, you’ve got an ex-Templar leading a mixed army of men and mages? How _is_ that?” Mya asked flippantly.

Varric replied, “Curly’s doing just fine. What’s more interesting than his leadership, though, is his idea of courtship!”

They both laughed and Norah felt herself turning pink. Mya tilted her head toward Norah questioningly; Varric hid his smirk in his ale.

“No!” she exclaimed, then turned pensive with a slow sip of her drink, “Well, Varric, he can’t be worse than Aveline.”

“Oh, Maker, no. No one is that bad,” came the dwarf’s quick rejoinder, “But, Hawke, you _do_ recall he got kicked out of the The Blooming Rose?”

Norah knew the place was a brothel and, though she did not really want to ask why, she found the question had flown out of her mouth regardless of her wishes. Varric and Mya laughed uproariously, leaving her to look on in confusion.

Finally, Mya calmed herself just enough to answer. “He was too polite to the whores,” she spat out quickly, before bursting into laughter again. 

This time Norah joined in. She pictured an awkward younger Cullen in too-large Templar armor, making all the girls uncomfortable with his stiff formality.

“Ferelden men can be _so_ dense!” Mya stated firmly, “They don’t have the head for games. It feels like half the time you have to walk straight up to them and slap them right in the face with the obvious!”

Varric watched Norah pointedly, until the silence grew unbearable.

“Maker’s breath,” she cursed, and quickly downed the rest of her ale, “Fine. But, if this ends poorly, you’re both buying my drinks.” Norah slammed the flagon down on the table and marched up the stairs with her heart in her throat. She had no idea what she was going to do or say, but she found that it didn’t matter - her feet had already set their course and she could not turn back now.

When she found herself outside his door, she paused to knock. But, recalling their earlier conversation (and perhaps fueled by the ale she had so quickly thrown back) her lips curved in an impish grin as she silently slipped into his office. He sat at his desk, absorbed in his writing - the only sounds were the scratching of quill on parchment and his soft breathing. Twilight sun shone through his narrow windows, bathing the room in gold and making his hair seem to shimmer.

“You really _don’t_ allow any distractions, do you?” she asked quietly.

If Norah didn’t know better, she would have sworn she caught a glimpse of a poorly hidden grimace. Cullen put down his quill and hesitantly met her eyes.

“Was there something you needed?” he asked gruffly, avoiding her coy opening.

She stepped closer to him, trailing her fingers lightly along the edge of his desk. There were so many ways for her to answer that question, all of them naughtier than the last… but, silly Ferelden-born Mya Hawke’s words resounded in her head.

Norah suddenly dropped her gaze to her feet. “I was hoping you might have time to talk,” she said slowly, “Alone.”

The word hung heavily in the air.

“Alone?” he repeated.

Norah had to bite her lip to keep herself from laughing at his panic; she wasn't going to eat him.

*

Cullen led her along the battlements in silence, making his way to that one crumbled merlon where he liked to watch the sunrise. It was quite the opposite of sunrise at the moment. Instead of hazy grey, the valley stretched out before them was glowing gold - the sun a fiery globe dipping behind and between the peaks of the Frostbacks. She was so beautiful, even as she chewed anxiously on her bottom lip. He wondered if that could be a sign of nerves. Her gaze was focused a thousand miles away and he pushed down any hope that she may actually be as nervous as he was. He resigned himself to breaking the silence in the most noncommittal way possible.

“It’s a… nice evening,” he said awkwardly. She abruptly stopped short of their destination as his words brought her out of her thoughts.

“What?” she asked, startled. Her hand rose to her throat, though she caught herself before her fingers could start grasping - he had seen that gesture from her before, but he could not puzzle out what it meant.

Cullen sighed. If this was going to turn into more teasing, he would rather avoid the frustration. “There was something you wished to discuss?”

She cocked an eyebrow at him, her pensive mood gone as quickly as it had come upon her. “Certainly not the weather.” All he could do was look at her expectantly, waiting for her to go on.

“Maker,” she breathed, “Do you _really_ not know?”

She took a hesitant half-step closer and looked imploringly up at him. He could drown in her eyes when she gazed at him like that, lost in the pale blue ice that swirled into two piercing black centers. This was the look that made him feel as if she were blind to all other men… could it truly be for him?

“I won’t say I don’t think about you, Norah,” he replied softly as he turned away from her to lean on the crumbled merlon a few paces away. He couldn’t breathe with her looking at him like that anymore. She couldn’t want him… there was so much she still didn’t know. He did not deserve her. The golden gleam of twilight on her deep red hair shone like a bright bonfire at the corner of his vision. He pushed away from the wall to look at her feet.

“What’s stopping you from doing more than thinking?” she asked, slipping herself between him and the battlements.

He rested his hands on the wall, trapping the clever rogue with his arms, but still avoiding her eyes. “You’re the Inquisitor, we’re at war,” he began earnestly, then he brought his gaze up to match hers, “And you’re a wretched tease and a flirt… I didn’t think it was possible.”

A crooked smirk tugged at his mouth as her eyes widened and her lips parted slightly in shock.

*

Norah laughed softly after she had taken the time to go over his words again in her mind, just to be sure her typically polite Templar had said what she thought he had. He was grinning rakishly at her and the way his scar tugged at his lips made her knees weak. She let the wall and one of his bracing arms support her.

“Yet, I’m here,” she said softly. “…with you.” 

He began slowly closing the distance between them. She had never seen him look at her quite like that before, eyes only rimmed with gold. The man radiated heat and where he touched her seemed to sizzle. Norah struggled to fight the building sense of urgency burning in her belly, but it was a losing battle.

“So you are.” he replied, voice thick with desire, sliding a hand down to rest on her hip and causing her whole body to quiver, “It seems too much to ask. But, I want to-”

“Commander!”

His lips were only inches away from her own when the messenger’s offending shout interrupted him and they both froze. She cursed the man’s awful timing as she found herself suddenly bereft of the warm press of Cullen’s body against hers.

“You wanted a copy of Sister Leliana’s report.”

“ _What_?” Cullen growled as he turned to face the unsuspecting man.

Norah had never found her boots more interesting in her entire life. She studied them desperately, knowing that if she looked anywhere else she would burst into wild laughter. She had no idea what Cullen did to make the man retreat to quickly, all she had to go by was rapidly fading footsteps and then the slam of a heavy door.

She sighed as the mirth and heat faded out of her. That missive could have been urgent… he normally had no distractions. She began to protest, but her words were cut off by his mouth urgently crushing down onto hers.

He tangled his gloved fingers in her hair as his thumbs gently caressed her jaw. She moaned into the kiss and he ran his tongue along her lips; begging entrance that she willingly gave. She was just beginning to get over her shock when he pulled away.

“I’m sorry… that was… um… really nice,” he mumbled through a shy smile, a totally different man than the one who had passionately kissed her just scant moments ago.

Norah smirked at him. “I _believe_ that was a kiss. But, I can’t be sure, it was all a blur,” she teased, hoping her disappointment was not too evident.

“Yes, well… I will need you to be sure,” he chuckled as he bent down to kiss her again.

Perhaps not a _totally_ different man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It didn't make sense to me that the Inquidition shows up at Skyhold and Hawke is kinda just immediately chilling on the battlements. So, for the purposes of this story we'll say that Varric was in contact with her and arranged a meeting in that dank little cave in Crestwood.


	7. Confessions

Norah threw her head back and moaned. She gripped the back of her throne tightly, holding on as if it were her only anchor in the physical world. One foot was braced in the crook of the armrest, the other was flung over his shoulder. Her other hand was knotted firmly in his golden hair, holding his head between her thighs. Not that she was keeping him there, it was quite the other way around; without his tongue deftly dancing over her hot, wet center she would cease to exist.

She moaned again, unabashedly louder, and her toes curled with wanton pleasure as he began to ply her with his fingers as well as his tongue. She thought she could manage to pant his name. She was so very close to release her body didn’t do anything Cullen did not allow. But, she knew he would want her to turn his name into the most desperate of pleas over and over again. She knew he loved to hear her beg for the completion only he could bring. Norah felt like a coiled spring being wound tighter and tighter and she knew she would soon break if only she could say his name.

“C-cullen…” his name escaped on a hitched breath. Strong hands gripped her shoulders. She was so close, why wasn’t he responding? Perhaps he didn’t hear. Perhaps if she was louder. “Mmm.. Cullen, please,” came her breathy moan.

The hands on her shoulders shook her roughly. “ _Inquisitor_!” The accent was not Cullen’s deep Ferelden, but the molasses over cold steel of Nevarra.

All the heat in Norah’s body fled as her eyes fluttered open and, even as her vision adjusted to the dim dawn light filtering into the tent, she could see Cassandra’s deep blush.

The Seeker sat back on her haunches. “I heard a noise and assumed you were awake… I didn’t mean to…” she trailed off awkwardly.

“No! Cassandra, I’m glad you woke me. I- I was having a nightmare.” Norah said quickly as she slid out from under the blanket and hastily pulled on her boots. She fumbled to collect her leathers, as well. Anything to keep her hands busy and her gaze away from Cassandra’s face.

“A nightmare?” the incredulity in Cassandra’s voice was hard to miss. “I didn’t think ‘please, Cullen’ was something a woman would scream during a _nightmare_.”

Norah groaned. “Maker, not you too.” She steeled herself to face Cassandra’s scrutiny, but found a surprisingly soft look instead. In a way, Norah found that compassionate expression worse than any taunting.

She gathered up her daggers, threw her coat over her shoulder and stepped out of the tent. The rest of their party was still asleep and the tiny camp was quiet. Their small fire reduced to a single still-smoldering ember, burning bright.

The other woman followed her, but remained silent while they made their way to a small stream just out of sight of the tents. Norah knew she should not be going alone, Cassandra was doing her duty to the Inquisition by coming along. All she wanted was to wash the night’s uneasy slumber away in peace, and it seemed that the Seeker would allow her that, despite shadowing her every step until they came to a halt.

Then, Cassandra simply watched the trees in the distance, her hand casually resting on the sword at her hip. She seemed at ease, but Norah knew better. Not even a sly little fennec could slip into the glade and escape the Seeker’s note. Norah sighed as she threw her things down in the grass and rolled up her shirtsleeves. It was probably best to accept the inevitable without too much of a fuss, especially when the minor inconvenience of lost privacy truly was for her own good.

She dropped to her knees on a dry rock jutting out into the swift little stream and dipped her hands into the icy water. It took a great effort to resist the urge to submerge her whole head and scream, but, instead savor the way her skin prickled in response to the frigid splash against her cheeks. Again and again, until her breath felt like dragging a thousand sharp little icicles down deep into her lungs and she sputtered gracelessly.

“Would you like to talk about it?” Cassandra asked in a perfectly even tone.

“Talk about what?” Norah replied from behind her sleeve as she mopped the excess water off her face. She returned quietly to her discarded pile of weapons and armor as if she had not just seemingly performed some pale imitation of Antivan water torture upon herself.

She didn’t need to look at Cassandra to know that she was the subject of the woman’s most implacable stare. Norah would skirt the issue, whatever the cost. She had decided that when she had purposely roused the nearest three companions (specifically excluding Varric) and abruptly left Skyhold. Norah began methodically donning her boiled leather vest.

“I could be mistaken,” the Seeker began carefully, “but, I thought you might need a… friend… to talk to… since the Commander,” she trailed off.

“The Commander?” Norah repeated flatly as she pulled sharply on the straps of her armor and began awkwardly reaching for the last fastening slightly beyond her grasp.

Cassandra made a disgusted noise. She grabbed Norah swiftly by the shoulder and pulled the last strap tight with one hand. “I am not a fool. The entire garrison was actually _buzzing_ with the news. You would think we trained fishwives, not soldiers.” She turned Norah around, but kept a heavy, gauntleted hand on the rogue’s shoulder.

“A patrol saw you two… ‘talking’… on the battlements. Then, the next morning you’re knocking down my door before I’ve even finished my meditations and dragging us all out here with no particular goal in mind? It’s been nearly four days of filling requisitions, hunting down supply caches, and wading through bandits, apostates and templars. ‘Let’s just kill things’ might be reason enough for the Iron Bull, but Solas is beginning to grumble. And I hope it is obvious that _I_ am not pleased, either. Your actions typically make more sense than this, Inquisitor.”

Norah couldn’t bring herself to meet the other woman’s gaze. “If we’re going to talk as friends, you bloody well can’t go calling me _that_.” she mumbled, as she slipped free of Cassandra’s tight grip.

Cassandra actually chuckled softly, “Very well, Norah. This is what I think: you whinge and grouse constantly, but I have yet to see you back down from anything, even when it may mean death. No, in fact, then you often seem to run happily towards it. That being said, I can’t begin to imagine what could have happened with Cullen that made you decide to flee your own fortress… but, if you told me, perhaps I could help you?”

“Do I truly look like a woman who needs help?” Norah retorted with a halfhearted smirk.

“You could barely get your armor on without me,” Cassandra observed dryly.

“I meant with something so silly as a man.” Norah rolled her eyes and dipped down on one knee to sift through her pile of weapons, as she muttered to herself. “Everyone knows you need help with armor. _Everyone_.”

She carefully slipped one small knife into her high boot cuff and another under her leather vambrace. She paused picking up her last throwing knife and stole a glance up at Cassandra. The look being directed down at her would make an ogre suddenly realize that he was pillaging the wrong village entirely.

“Perhaps I wasn’t clear,” Cassandra’s voice was cutting and firm, though not at all cruel, “But, we are far past the point where you can convince me you aren’t in complete emotional turmoil.”

Norah would swear that woman could chew up rocks and spit out gravel. She fell into a sitting position on the ground and began idly flipping her knife. Everything in life was easier to face with a weapon in hand, even the internal struggles. So, either her friend knew her better than she knew herself or …

“I’ve never really been quite good with honesty.” she admitted and met Cassandra’s gaze, sighing. “Especially with myself.”

It was Cassandra’s turn to roll her eyes. “That is not news… Though, I am glad to hear you say it. Now, if you please, why are we out here?”

“I don’t know,” she grumbled.

Cassandra’s implacable stare returned. “Honestly, Norah?” She unslung her shield and propped it up against a nearby tree as she sat on one of its protruding roots.

Norah caught her knife by the hilt one last time and drove it into the soft earth by her side. The sudden, decisive action somehow soothed her. “Honestly, Cassandra, I- I think I’m falling in love with him and I don’t know what to do.” Oddly, the confession somehow soothed her as well.

“That is _also_ not news.” the Seeker replied with a slightly uncharacteristic smirk.

“What _would_ be news, then?” Norah snapped, suddenly feeling like the butt of a joke. She caught herself feeling about her throat for a necklace that was no longer there and abruptly stopped. “I’m sorry,” she said haltingly, “I didn’t mean to be so short with you.”

The other woman waved the apology away. “No need, I _was_ being a little patronizing. But… I am truly here to listen.”

Norah nodded, pulling the knife up out of the dirt and driving it back down again. She focused on tearing up that tiny patch of earth. “Did you know I had a twin brother? You mentioned your brother to me once, I was wondering if you knew about mine?”

Cassandra leaned against the tree trunk. “He was a mage.”

“You know how he died, then?” Norah asked without taking her attention from her self imposed task.

“Yes,” Cassandra answered simply.

“Lyam was murdered and my family didn’t care.” Norah said fiercely, “My brother. My twin. Part of my _soul_ was ripped out and no one seemed to care. We had always been afterthoughts, my brother and I, but we had always been together. When he was taken to the Circle, I was left alone in a house full of callous pricks. When he died, I was left alone in a _world_ of them.” She looked up at Cassandra, eyes full of unshed tears. “After that, I spent a lot of time in the low places of Ostwick. In part, I think, to see if anyone at home would notice I wasn’t there.”

Despite the long buried pain this confession was dredging up, Norah was beginning to feel all the better for pushing onward. The Seeker quietly waited for Norah to continue, true to her offer to listen. “I was young and hurt and I ran with unsavory crowds, I’m sure you can imagine how I built a sense of self worth. All I’ve ever known is the hunt. Even if I cared to find another way, I- I _couldn’t_ … And with what they did to Lyam, you see why I can’t fall in love with a Templar.”

Norah tossed her knife aside, out of reach. Cassandra seemed to take that as a signal that the impetuous redhead was finished. “You are creating issues for yourself.” the Seeker said softly, “No one begins a relationship knowing the path it will take. And besides, you know he is not a Templar any longer.”

“And you know as well as I do that it’s quite easy to _say_ you are no longer a Templar, but it’s not at all so simple to actually cut the Chantry cord,” came Norah’s sharp reply.

“If he has not discussed this with you, it is not my place to do so, but I can promise his claims are true. He has shown little enough respect for what is left of the institution,” Cassandra said gruffly as she crossed her arms.

“Yes, standing with us heretical upstarts and all.” Norah huffed.

The two women sat in silence for a few moments. Cassandra calmly picked a loose thread off her sleeve while Norah patched up the small rent in the earth she had made. She packed the dirt down with her fist halfheartedly.

“Do you know what I see when I catch Cullen looking at you?” The Seeker asked suddenly, “If you didn’t know, I catch him quite often.”

“Unfettered lust?” Norah asked hopefully. That, at least, she knew how to handle.

Cassandra gave her a flat look. “Devotion.”

Norah’s stomach lurched uncomfortably. “That’s _exactly_ what terrifies me.”

Cassandra shook her head in disbelief. “How can you face demons and death so easily, but fear a good man?”

“Death is easier to bear than a broken heart,” she replied with a shrug, “Especially if you’re the one doing the dying.”

Cassandra made a disgusted noise. This time, however, the familiar sound seemed to be exaggerated, as if compensating to hide something akin to amusement. “Strange woman,” she sighed, shaking her head again.

Norah laughed softly, “I could say the same about you. No offense intended, but, you’re the last person I’d have suspected to encourage… this.” She swallowed the lump that had suddenly arisen in her throat.

“What makes you say that?” the Seeker asked with an arched eyebrow.

She smirked. “I rather thought you’d say something along the lines of ‘securing the future of Thedas is too pressing to suffer distractions’ or ‘the love of the Maker should be all the Herald of Andraste needs’ you know, that sort of thing.” Norah replied, calling up a lame imitation of Cassandra’s thick timbre.

“If the people who shape the future never know love, I shudder to think what kind of cold world they’d leave behind,” she said quietly. She paused, allowing her words time to sink in, then added, “Your Nevarran accent is awful.”

“Yes… well, I never claimed to be perfect. Just scarred by ancient magics.” Norah said dryly, as she stood and brushed herself off. “Let’s go back to Skyhold.”

“Now?” Cassandra asked, surprised.

“Yes, now,” Norah replied seriously, “But, we’re stopping to pick _every_ elfroot we find on the way back. I’m sure someone somewhere needs them.”

With that she strode off to forcefully rouse her other companions, leaving Cassandra still sitting on her tree root, looking at where Norah had been only seconds ago. The Seeker took a moment to remind herself that she truly believed the Maker had, indeed, brought Norah to them to achieve great things. It was sometimes difficult for her to keep that in mind when the woman could be _so_ incredibly frustrating.

*

The lyrium kit sat open on Cullen’s desk. The box was of weathered oak and the implements were worn from years of use. But, no more. It had sat unused and buried in a trunk for months. He told himself he did not miss it. He knew that was a lie.

If he did not miss it, then how did he know exactly where to find the small, discreet wooden box? In that nondescript trunk placed in the farthest corner of his chambers, under a dinted piece of armor placed _just_ so. He had said he would not use it, but he had the kit open on his desk. The glowing vial of bright blue lyrium hummed with energy, fresh as the day it was bottled.

The hum vibrated against the tips of his fingers, turned blue by the soft glow. He snatched back his hand, not recalling letting it get so close. He did not know why he had retrieved the box from its hiding place. No… no, that was a lie as well. Cullen could not remember when the truth had become such a difficult thing for him to grasp.

In part, that was why he denied himself the lyrium. He sought a clarity that would be forever denied to him if he continued flooding his veins with the brilliant blue pollution. Even in the short time he had stopped, he had become aware of a great deal. For one, he looked back on the long years since the Blight and did not truly like the man that had come out the other side of those ordeals. He saw so little of the idealistic young man who found himself flushed and tongue tied every time he was around the pretty, dark haired apprentice back at Kinloch Hold.

But, then that blushing youth had watched Solona Amell die during Uldred’s coup. She'd fought hard, taking several of his abominations with her as she purged the room with a liquid hot fire. Cullen would never be able to forget the way the nearly white flames licked at the invisible walls of his prison while she burned herself and every twisted creature around her away rather than become one of them.

He recalled retching and weeping and railing at the time, but now, a full decade later, and he reflected on worse ways to die. Solona had chosen her own end. She had held her head high and taken as many of her enemies with her as possible. What more could a warrior ask for? Then again, Solona had not been a warrior, but a scholar. However, with the state of the sky, it seemed that fate might make fighters of them all.

Thinking on the scarred sky and the chaos it had wrought led him to her. Norah was everything Solona was not. Short when he preferred tall. Rough instead of reserved. Strong and solid where he looked for soft and willowy. Bright red, tousled tresses when he used to favor neat, dark hair. Those eyes… he… he only saw ice. Startled, Cullen realized he could not remember what color Solona’s eyes had been. Norah’s frosty gaze had eclipsed that of every other woman he’d ever seen.

Her eyes were a paler blue than the lyrium he had still left open in front of him. Cullen gripped the edge of his desk with both hands as he weighed which shade he preferred. Better to focus on that pointless debate rather than why he _had_ to do such things.

He had never seen her run from anything except him. And she did so every time he began to hope, to allow himself to want her. If it was a game she was playing, then it was a cruel one. His hands trembled on the desk, but he held on. The last time they were together he’d been so _sure_. She had melted in his arms and returned his kisses with seemingly equal longing. Then, the next morning she was gone. Vanished from Skyhold, leaving nothing behind but a brief note addressed to Leliana.

It twisted him up in ways he could not describe. She had dangled herself in front of him as if she was a truly attainable woman. The Herald of Andraste had stepped down to walk among mortals for a short time and let him have just the tiniest taste of her divine lips. And when he had reached for more, she disappeared. Addiction had been his stalwart companion for many years, but never seemed so cruel as this woman.

Something sparked in the back of his mind, some small shred of resilience. Her whims aside, he could not allow himself to fall apart. He released one white knuckled hand from the desk and tipped the lid of the lyrium kit closed. The latch snapped shut and, with a swiftness of motion he hadn't realized he was currently capable of, he swept the box off his desk and was up the ladder to his loft in moments. Before he was even truly aware of what he’d done, he was wedging that unusable piece of armor back into place in the trunk in the far corner of his room.

Cullen breathed deeply as he padded slowly back to the ladder and slid down, fully intending to return to his duties. But, when he alighted in his office he was immediately aware of the change.

The air was different. Before, in his stupor, he’d let the room become close and warm. Now, a cold breeze had blown through, stirring stagnant air. He hesitantly turned from the ladder.

Norah sat behind his desk, still wearing her armor, but not looking travel worn in the slightest. She rested her crossed legs carelessly across his papers. “Have you missed me, Commander?” she asked in sultry tones.

He did not answer. He knew he’d had this dream before. He must have fallen asleep when he went up to the loft and now he was dreaming. Typically he would take her hand and try to be gentle and, even though it was _his_ dream, she would always manage to slip away from him. So, this time, he decided to go about things differently.

Cullen crossed the room in a few long strides. He grabbed her by her armor and hauled her up, out of his chair. He kissed her hard as he threw her up against the wall and pinned her there with his body. He hungrily devoured her mouth and left her gasping for air as his lips made their way along her jaw, not caring that his scruff must be scraping her soft skin.

“I’ll take this as a yes,” she laughed softly.

He pulled her scarf away and threw it over his shoulder, then started to work at the available ties of her shirt as he began to ravage the other side of her neck.

Norah moaned wordlessly. Cullen hitched her leg up around his waist and ground his hips against hers, letting his searing kisses trail down her throat. He stopped over the spot where he could feel her pulse racing under his tongue.

“Not that I’m complaining, but this is quite the opposite of what I was expecting.” Norah said.

“Stop. Talking.” Cullen bit off each word, frustrated by having to pull his lips away from their work. He stopped toying with her shirt laces and simply yanked her shirt and armor down, exposing the tops of her breasts pressing against the leather.

She raised a hand in weak protest, but he swept it up against the wall with his and held it there, twining his fingers in her own. His head dipped as he pressed kisses all along her collarbone following the path down.

“Oh, Maker, I thought this sort of behavior would take _so_ much more convincing,” she moaned, rolling her hips against his as best she could with only one foot barely on the floor. She let her head drop back against the stone wall with a thud and heaved a sigh. “I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but, you have to stop. There’s something we need to talk about and I need your full attention.”

“You have my full attention,” he insisted through fevered kisses.

“ _Cullen_.”

Something about the way she said his name made her suddenly coalesce in his arms, the reality of the situation setting in. He stepped away from her quickly, almost as if she was made of lightening and he did not want to be struck. The back of his legs hit his desk. “Maker’s breath, you’re really here,” he gasped.

Norah tilted her head and narrowed her eyes, gingerly fingering the red marks on her neck. “Of course I’m really here. What are you on about?”

“I-I thought I was dreaming. I’ve had the same one every night since you left,” he paused, and somewhere in the back of his mind he realized that his legs were shaking. “I’m sorry.”

“Cullen, are you feeling alright?” she asked hesitantly. When he didn’t respond, she swiftly closed the distance between them again, pressing her hands against his face. “You’re burning up,” Norah said as she ushered him to sit in his chair.

“It’s hot in here.”

“No, it’s not. It’s freezing,” she retorted decisively. Norah perched herself in his lap and smoothed back his hair gently. She then produced a small vial from some hidden pocket in her coat and held it up to his lips. “Drink.” she whispered, and he tiled his head back to let the warm, red potion slide down his throat without protest.

In a matter of moments he felt his head clear. The elfroot potion would not cure his fever, but it would diminish the symptoms for a time. “You’re still going to need to see one of the healers, you know,” she said quietly, still absently stroking his hair.

He pulled away from her nimble fingers and shook his head, “They shouldn’t waste their resources on me.”

“Well, that doesn’t make any sort of sense,” she protested, “If you’re sick, you see the healer. You’re quite clearly sick and the Inquisition needs its Commander well.”

Cullen sighed. “It’s not the sort of sickness they can heal.”

Norah went quiet for a moment. She did not meet his eyes as she asked, “You’ve stopped taking the lyrium, haven’t you?”

He froze. Who had told her? When and how to tell her was his decision, who would have taken it from him? “How could you know that?”

“You forget I come from the second most pious family in _all_ the Free Marches, we send all our castoffs to the Templars. _And_ I remember when old Uncle Heinric was escorted to Val Royeaux by his brothers; he was practically drooling on his armor. I’m not stupid. I know what lyrium does to a man in the long run. Though, I’ve never heard of someone trying to find out what it does in the short,” she said softly.

“You must understand… after Kirkwall… I couldn’t- _wouldn’t_ be bound to the Order any longer.”

“Oh, I understand and even respect what you’re doing. But, Cullen, you can’t push yourself too far.”

“Are you saying you think I should…?” He could not bring himself to complete the thought.

“No! No, I just… I need you to take care of yourself,” she trailed off uncertainly.

Cullen fixed his gaze on the floor. Taking care of himself was something he had not been doing well lately. There was too much to do to sit down for three full meals a day and, even when his dreams were pleasant, sleep was something he did not allow himself to truly indulge in. It would seem that his own negligence could be blamed in large part for the severity of his current state.

Norah raised her hand to run her fingers through his hair again. He did not shy away from her touch. She lightly traced the outline of his ear and ran her fingers along the curve of his jaw, bringing them to rest under his chin. She tilted his face up towards her own and rained tiny, tender kisses down upon his face, lingering over the scar on his lip.

She smiled. “And if you can’t, I’ll do it for you.”

He felt heat creeping up the back of his neck every time she smiled and fixed him with that gaze that seemed to make the rest of the world melt away, this moment was no exception. A cold, insistent voice in the back of his head, however, reminded him that he’d felt just as sure last time he had her alone like this.

“That might be difficult if you keep running away every time I turn around,” he replied, disgusting his skepticism with jest.

Her cheeks heated and she cast her eyes down. At least she had the good grace to look ashamed. “If you’ll have me, I promise I’ll never run again,” she offered tremulously, peering at him from under her thick, dark lashes.

Cullen stared at her slackly, if he’d have her? He couldn’t find the words to affirm how much he did, indeed, want to have her over and over again. He let his body speak for him instead, answering with a surety he could never convey verbally. His hands found their way around her waist and into her hair, pulling her gently forward. His lips met hers with an insatiable hunger, his tongue delved her deeply. She responded in kind, knotting her fists into the fur mantle around his shoulders and pressing herself up against him. For a time they were both content to lose themselves in their heated embrace.

Cullen reluctantly broke away from her first. She instinctually followed, trying to reclaim his mouth once more. He chuckled softly as he gently pulled her against his chest and wrapped his arms around her. Norah abandoned her quest for his mouth and contented herself with pressing kisses against his neck and jaw.

“Wasn’t there something you wished to discuss?” he asked.

He felt her smirk against his throat. “Not unless you want to listen to my impassioned and wholly selfish plea for you to stop killing yourself with lyrium so I could justify allowing myself to fall ass over elbow for you.”

Cullen looked her in the eye, and finding her to be completely genuine, burst out laughing.

“What?!” Norah exclaimed, “It was going to be _very_ compelling!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOOOOO! I am SO sorry that took SO incredibly long. I suppose that's what happens when what I'm posting finally catches up with what I'm writing and then real life gets hectic and this chapter was suuuuuuper difficult for me to write in certain places.
> 
> In fact, I literally JUST finished. So the ending may be a little rough. And in all honesty, I'll probably edit it a little bit later on. But, I really just wanted to get it up and let everyone know that this little fic hasn't been abandoned!
> 
> Note #2: Just edited the end of the chapter a bit! ;)


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